Looking Up

Deep inside the quiet deep parting of private seas

to leagues of muscular chants, there is a love

to be lost and broken    rearranged like blocks—

whose name we spell is not the issue—it is us not willing

to pay attention to architecture, its integrity, whether

it will last the shake    we go story after story

thinking the roof will know nothing of the ground.


Will Know Nothing, by Arisa White