six pages from Threads
To beat the odds of simultaneous death by bombing or arrest
Feel a map as the phenomenon of a ghost limb: then there is no loss.
Tell me again the story of everything depends on this
Dear Dad, we live in all topological dimensions at once—
this city peels, its pages glued together by something personal
Or neatly sutured.
Which roads lead out and which lead in?
The door was opened.
Mr. Gorbachev: thank you for your glasnost.
From which they fled,
light in the town of Haapsalu.
I slip between reeds as seabirds call up the names
"a space for thinking
while every word uttered in isolation is accented on the first syllable