Called Poem by Lisa Gluskin Stonestreet

Called



and I go

down into it, the hall again
(streetlights, blinds)

all the same all the dark

down into it and do what must be done
with my body, with the patience
that I do not have

fellow sufferer, fellow sleeper, not-

sleeper, seeker

night boat, little sail

in the slow air in the rounded dark
inside the broken night

rudderless elliptical

in the stitched-together minute

minute

minute

365 x night x 8 (new)

x 4
x 2
x 8 again (despair, iron)
x 2

x 1, x occasional, x rarity (fever, monsters, light)

= now

= again

once

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