Saskia Hamilton

What can we say?  We woke from the dream

of the sustained dream.

First the interruption then the interruption.

The room smelled of rain: the windows left open

like the person leaving, the person coming.

Those who were caught between action and action

became the subject of the story. But their movement

didn't signify. The neighbors above

circled back on their small errands,

weighing down the same place.

So you, so I:



Saskia Hamilton

If you extend promise of life to the dead.

The peaches withered in their skin

But were still good to eat:

A cool July. Every day, the light lifted the heat

Higher and soaked the room, then

Dropped again.

                  I departed

But am making my way back to the center of the mind.

One note. Another note.