I Painted You

Several days of tempest,
Drifting to the north on unanswered orisons,
The datura oriented at the sun’s appearance.
Partial to impuissant seasons,
Speakers shorten their imprecations —
Ancients their divagations.
There I painted you
As a spot on the dimming sun.

What I’m Reading:

where can we put all this fire?
there is more fire than warmth
there are more walls than doors

will you teach me the language of walls?

— Anna Malihon / “[I’ve wanted to ask for a long time…]”