The Past Is Still, For Us, A

In Canada Pianos Needed Water. You Opened Up The Back And Left A Full Glass Of Water, And A Month Later The Glass Would Be Empty. Her Father Had Told Her About The Dwarfs Who Drank Only At Pianos, Never In Bars.

And It Would Be A Spare Life He Would Be Certain To Lead As A Schoolteacher In Some Urban Location. But He Had A Serenity That Came With The Choice Of The Life He Wanted To Live. And This Serenity And Certainty I Have Seen Only Among Those Who Have The Armour Of Books Close By.

Water Is The Exile, Carried Back In Cans And Flasks, The Ghost Between Your Hands And Your Mouth.

He Will Hear The Rain Before He Feels It, A Clicking On The Dry Grass, On The Olive Leaves.

I Thought I Was Being Loved Because I Was Being Altered.