362 MICHIGAN QUARTERLY REVIEW
of long grass from my neighbor's garden.
We walk for hours, then find ourselves on the bank
of the Charles, the water blacker than any country
clearing, so still I can almost feel the gentle
resistant turning of the earth. I take it all in,
the lights of Boston across the bridge,
the Citgo sign repeating endlessly, and the pull
of his fingers in my hair is heavy like falling into still water.
How quiet the world is, and complicated.
LOVE, IN THIS CENTURY
You fall asleep before me.
I go on watching the late night
movie about the couple
so much in love, they turn
into blazing headlines.
He loves her, then kills her.
I move closer toward your sleeping body;
it's your breathing which calms me.
But in the dark, all I can see
is her face, her hands, that wide
grin and how she went
so willingly into those woods, believing
they were only looking for wildflowers.
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