I'm
Doing Just Fine and Blank
(for Michael Palmer)
Nothing follows shadows without precedent.
Someone sat on the rue, eating a postcard.
In simpler times, from which the postcard came,
swimming was to an island until one drowned.
I had low expectations, and let the water
from a lover's eyes out. It once was said that
there are no mistakes in nature, once I said that.
Just look, what ballerinas do to sentences: just now,
I watch an auditorium seat itself a rink around
where it begins to snow, and focuses on ice.
The mind, even, soundly, is a sculpture that can
only withstand so many days of direct sunlight.
Alec Hershman lives in Michigan. He
is the author of Permanent and
Wonderful Storage (Seven Kitchens, 2019) and The Egg Goes Under (Seven Kitchens,
2017).