Night falls
and the empty intimacy of the whole world
fills my heart to frothing.
The past has trudged to this one spot
with a flashlight in its mouth
and falls into the stream.
Ancient tears beneath the surface
rise and scatter like carp,
while an ivory hairpin floats away
like a loose tooth going back in time.
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“Sent to the Monk“ from Dunce. Copyright © 2019 by Mary Ruefle. Used with permission of the author and Wave Books.