a rudimentary bridge in the mouth—the way a hand never does enough. What is sufficient. I lick everything I can touch because I’m young and things are beautiful. I am not a universe or sparrow lost on the wind. Always, always, always expanding. Heat in the water, heat between us, a stuttering bridge— beneath which sediment takes a long time getting where it wants to go.
Tony Mancus Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
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