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WHAT NEVER COMES BACK: HUIDOBRO / Stephen Berg like a doorway without a door you arrived the hours changed the night sky became dawn the sea was a tree fiUed with leaves birds flowers were happy my heart gave off perfume days walk through the year where are you my hands get longer my gaze explodes soUtude weeps for company silence is fiUed with your lost steps I want other eyes to begin where mine end where are you now whose room do you warm my heart swells Uke a sponge Uke coral that joins to form islands futile to look at the sky futile to question the stones each day grayer futile to look at that tree you are what distance is remoteness and there's no cure the days are looking for you Usten time sings Uke a nurse whUe the wound sleeps and my heart tries to escape over the trees and bursts against the sky flowers there they are so what 130 · The Missouri Review where am I in sohtude one soUtude then another that strange unending timeless time of soUtude where is the Ught do you have it where even the days are searching for you the wounded days crucified rise faU drip blood the roads seek you soUtude upon soUtude my heart cracks in my chest so terribly nothing returns nothing is itself everything's something else nothing returns nothing flowers and grass they leave their fragrance barely reaches me Uke a bell toUing hundreds of mUes away in another town glances and voices not yours waters in other rivers other leaves on other trees everything's something else nothing returns the roads have gone minutes and hours gone too the river gone forever Uke those comets we admire so much my heart wiU spUl out onto the earth the entire universe wUl be my heart Stephen Berg The Missouri Review · 231 THE UNKNOWN PAIN: MATOS / Stephen Berg I don't know exactly when but today I started to think about that far-off pain who knows where I'll be when it hits when it breaks out from the inside outside or how in rooms suburbs dreaming its bleak shadow aUve with prehistoric instinct Sometimes from the secret hoarse shriU sea from distances nobody has been to inner outer echoes so indistinct they lose themselves talk talk talk Uke waves surrendering or is it praying on the one motionless coast of mist and sUence Those voices those whatever-they-ares those notes words are messages desperate letters from ourselves from others we'U never meet oh they try to prove with their despair depth those scenes inside we Usten to fail to Usten to screams of men overboard pleas from a huge Uner sinking in the distance My God what Umbos swaddled in mist what unsuspected inner sights everywhere we look some fresh horizon pierces us so deep so hard we can't think can't understand our Uves grow in darkness Maybe what happens inside us maybe what feels tragic exists in those vague rooms those mute outskirts of shadow not one pathetic shred of prayer reaches us maybe one night at a party laughing without a thought you I are the backdrop against which such incredible pain . . . no answer its useless voice blows away 132 · The Missouri Review ...


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