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Untitled [Elegy For the Memory of a Relationship]

 

It isn’t the space

the closeness of knowing

somebody so well

we hear their heartbeat

inside ours,

or the aperture of life

squinting one morning at a time,

but I freeze right there,

hold & blow on the image

wait for the smell

of the park & cut grass

to come again.

This picture fades

& here we find perpetuity.

Where they used to be

you dig a cave

out of resilience

until eternity

like rain

pours the memory back

& then you’re drowned in it.

The heart has learned

to swell & deflate

in a particular order

& I look at its churning for rhythm.

A centeredness

in my chest pins

me to this moment in forever.

Love as an act

of un-resilience

& the prow of life bobbing

just above our sunken resolution.

You asked me to

wet myself with blood;

I thought your hands

were a metaphor.

 

“All That’s Not for the Sake of Living, It is Living.

Life is a Sincerity.”

                                after Emmanuel Levinas

 

 Understand solitude

not as a state but a continuity

of waking. Right here build a nest

out of broken pages, watch the world shuffle

& drink another cup

of coffee just to feel

how heat runs fluid in the deepest

part of the morning.

These hollow pages we meditate into

& like night we seek the absence

itself, see it as comfort. I take and hold it

conversely. What is living:

sincerity reserved only

for myself & whatever birds

who’ve found water or sand

to bath & love in.

 

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Nicodemus Nicoludis is a poet, adjunct community college professor and bookseller. He is the author of  the chapbook Natural History (rot house books, 2018) and his work appears in Potluck Mag, Maudlin House, Chronogram, Reality Hands and elsewhere. He lives in Queens, NY.   Twitter

photo credit: stephanie roberts  Twitter  Instagram  SoundCloud

 

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