2 June 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 2

from The Constraints of Architecture

by ADAM CLAY

for Megan Welbourne

A longing lives inside the mind: both to be in the past

Where we weren't, but also to be the person

We are in the present living in that unrealized past. The moon

Is a paint bucket on its side. The moon is the

Eye of the camera that records the moment when two bodies touch.

She's spent all night erasing names and details from the love letters,

Filling the gaps with origami birds and words painted

In red on the bedroom wall. Radio reminds

Her of falling in the woods on her back. The way the sky

Looked through those loblolly pines. The way the night

Was so bird-less that worms could be heard digging,

The way that waltz felt new and routine and in disarray:

These are things no one else has known.