The Couriers
BY SINA QUEYRAS
Words from a leaf on the shell of a snail?
Tendency as reciprocity etched in shale.
Cider vinegar wrapped in sealskin?
Accept it, so little is genuine.
A box on a meteor compelled by earth?
Lies, emptiness, grief: it’s not a first.
Frost on the dock at Penetanguishene?
Tears from Lake Huron, Erie, and Michigan.
Not a moment to yourself?
Don’t let love put you on a shelf.
A preponderance of errors?
The soft one sucks her rivers.
Love, love, needs no reason.
Yes, yes, yes, is my season.
Source: Poetry (November 2015)