Mary Ann Samyn
Little body, swell—,
can I borrow you,
can I make the shape?
—like that one, lying down
(like you, he says,
Sometimes he’s quiet as painting I have loved:
soft grids of white on white—
As I suspected, the diacritical mark
indicates special value.
—some of his were jaunty,
like the stick we cleaned for marshmallows;
like the wall around the convent—
Of course the quick jab bad distance
was contained there too and unavoidable.
—but when he used his riverbed voice,
I agreed to walk along . . .
Dear between, hesitation,
are you light?
(I’m feeling my way—)
are you fine?
Mostly, that after the white space, we would begin—