Thursday, May 2, 2013

This Is My Proof

Inside a book
I've been meaning to
read forever, I
come across you

decades later
and find again
words you wrote
to calm me when

we were together:
your photo pressed
like an aspen leaf
I guess I missed.

The scribble across
the back, your name—
if more was meant,
it never came.

There were others
(there's someone now),
same as you.
And yet, somehow

among dust motes,
none of it matters:
a rush of breath
comes in then scatters.

David Yezzi

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