There is no better way to say loss, than to draw a picture empty of images. This is to say the antiquity of the coliseum is merely dust waiting to settle, the earth waiting to consume. Another way to say distance.
Enter the stone of craftsmen, dilapidated roadways…
The only places of silence for which to hear a breath or a touch of a hand.
It is often too easy to be lost in the crowds memorizing history in photos or attempts at where goodbyes occurred.
I lack the language to say this now, or reference others who have.
These shortcomings of letters, of boats transporting bodies between two points.
I find myself only thinking of the tolls that must be paid to move onto this new place.
Chris Caruso earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Boise State University. His poems appear in online and print journals as well as in anthologies. Originally from New Jersey he currently lives in Boise, but dreams of a small cottage with a Koi pond in Portland.