Beginning with “If I Could Just Stop Getting Lost” and concluding with an address to the unknown reader, saying “It’s not simple, the way here,” this collection of poetry ponders “over a piece that doesn’t fit / An irregularity – shifting / As one changes position and time passes” 

TO —————

It’s not simple, the way here
You have to be driven, like a refugee
Leaving behind everything but yourself
Or drawn, as in a magnetic field
Possibly toward destruction, like the knight-king
Lured deeper and deeper into an alien land
Not many hazard such a journey, so uninviting

so risky

Near here I stood on a slope – nothing but gravel

not a shrub, not a paper cup

Gravel sliding, slipping toward the edge, falling off
You have to examine the view minutely
To discover anything human inhabiting the scene
To be honest I moved here to remove myself
I was too close, waking-doing-sleeping blurred my vision
The unseen left something foul on the window, in the lungs
Every act tinged with verdigris, error, helplessness, annoyance
Even praise rang in my ears like clamor
Vestiges of wounded flesh flashed on and off in my brain
The way we were living made me afraid
Here the past sits on a bench, a dwarfish man
Attended to when the need arises, not obeyed
Let it be over, now Those who do not
Remove the barricade repeat
Like a family clearing out a widow’s house
Where not one speaks to the other but cooks, or folds, or reads
According to a habit made rigid by time
What can I offer you who must have been
Driven to come this way, willing to enter my darkness
As if it were your own, leaving even friends behind?
But how can you speak to me? Now, here
Break the urn of remembrance and longing for what was not themselves
Scatter the ash – what else can we do?
The future approaches midair, a girl who whirls in a ruffled skirt
She can act, she can play the flute, she won a blue ribbon
At hurdles, and when she laughs earth quiets down
Perhaps the wind will whisper a word, a phrase
Perhaps something will call from below
We could begin a line