Poetry

Hungry after school, we bought a jumbo pretzel from the bakery one with crystalline salt like tiny mountain caps perched on its curves, then wandered into the sculpture garden across the way where

Aeneas leans his hand against a palm tree, Rough to the touch and real—his gods appear As dreams, as voices, mists, hallucinations. Walking by Dido’s palace, Aeneas stops, Listens for flutes

The blue domino tin in the closet makes me think in mul- tiples of five. How many games did we play? Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, two thousand… How many times did I hear