« Trace
The Short of It
And then he stumbled upon a total speechlessness.
Everything’s been covered: import, export, wholesale and retail.
Meager language corrals him at Short St., near the liquor store
that backs up to the boxy mound of a haunting development.
Now a kindergarten is where the post office had been,
and the post office took the spot of a butcher shop, though it’s all a blur.
They dug up one set of tracks; the other turns wild amid thistles.
The dumpster’s covered, so the wind stays dry rummaging trough the trash.
The apartment blocks turn pale in the night – everybody’s dead,
when the harpoon of Channel One hits the note and goes out.
Or maybe this: the world cracks like a layer of dirt or paint
and a mute word momentarily hits the heart of things.
Translated by Piotr Florczyk