Bruce Bond

Issue #
September 28, 2015


Begin with one: one life, one chair, one window,

how the clarity of each invokes the many

cities of which we are examples now.

I am looking at you, winter sky,

through the lens of a woman whose body

stands between us. Begin with her, my friend,

in some season that is specific as day

when days are numbered. The end is not the end

but passing into more. And ours alone:

the passing of the many that make of one

another. It is no friend. It is a house

of mourners drawn to the open windows.

Begin with her, with the long view that takes her

in. A safelight here. A curtain there.

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