Jennifer Clarvoe

One probably hears about it.One, wire, recognizes.One holds her bones up next to each other.One insists, grinding the clutch.One would powder and powder.One would ask out of the back of the throat.One refuses.One is so sad.One is helpful all of a sudden.One turns.One shimmers; hiccups.One puts on a tie and keeps finding a place for his hands.One breathes the old purple.One nods because no one speaks loud enough anymore.One doesn't approve, but trusts.One is so sure.

Do you know how,sometimes, when you first wake up,your pulse is so thorough, so slow,that you, and the one who is with you, and the room, and the opening light all seem to swelland subside and swell inside your heart?

We cannot carve or forcibly preserveor cultivate belief. If it will grow, it growsas we do - mostly after we have fallen

She isn't here, but aroundhere, in a deep raindisappearing.

And in the sin of wantingalways to be right, the punishmentis knowing it isn't possible.

Certainly not the way someone will have told you the same thing yesterday, made you feel alternately - simultaneously - angry and guilty, guilty because complicit because flattered, therefore unfairly angry.