Far

After the shooting I movedto a beautiful city where the sunand the sea were dangerous

but loved and everyone livedbetween them. This is a storyof betweenness. This is an apartment

with furniture from the street,and this is me eating my mealson a blue vinyl chair, amazed

by the tapenade, enamoredof the bread, fascinatedby the clementines that come apart

like the heartof some poor beastwhose face, if I saw it,

I would caressbecause I do not recognize danger.I recognize chairs, and drag two blue ones

to the border of the sea.I swim away from them,alone and without sunscreen

beneath the indefatigable sunbut not too far. I don’t know dangerbut I’ve always known far

which right now is two blue chairs—empty except for their blue,far, but close together.