Beneath all this I’m carving a cathedral
of salt. I keep

the entrance hidden, no one seems to notice
the hours I’m missing  ...    I’ll

bring you one night, it’s where
I go when I

hang up the phone  ...    

                                      Neither you
nor your soul is waiting for me at

the end of this, I know that, the salt
nearly clear after I

chisel out the pews, the see-through
altar, the opaque

panes of glass that depict the stations of
our cross — Here is the day

we met, here is the day we remember we
met  
...    The air down here

will kill us, some say, some wear paper
masks, some still imagine the air above the green

trees, thick with bees

building solitary nests out of petals. What’s
the name for this? Ineffable? The endless

white will blind you, some say,
but what is there to see we haven’t already

seen? Some say it’s
like poking a stick into a river — you might as well

simply write about the stick.

Or the river.

Poet Bio

What People are Saying

"I was surprised that I was able to select poems that are so out of my usual spoken word preference. The Poetry Out Loud website has hundreds of poems that I have never seen before, and the fact that I found 3 and was able to make it so far with them is amazing to me. I guess I learned that stepping outside of the box is okay!"
Annabelle Emuze
2015 IL POL Champion