would lie down
and, closing his eyes, hasten
the demise of the locusts.
It
was always the same.
A week, a century, the empty lot.
The last architect, the great
philosopher, was late as usual–
when they talked about the end,
he would laugh and remind them
they were now at the mercy
of the scientists, without whom
the architects would cease to exist.
MARY JO BANG
Night Falling Fast
Was he gone for good? Or only an hour? Louise could never tell.
His hat was an after-
image fixed to the list of her eye. Was he tall and narrow,
did he wear white socks with black shoes, a fashion forgot–
ten so long ago but recently reborn as retro? Was he missing
to her? Had her heart's heart ever truly been his?
Or did she belong to whomever was wearing her arm
on his neck; her lip's sweetish lavender kiss
still hung in the air-
less room. Night falling fast in a shadowed locale
where a thin line could mean either fact or forensics:
the track of a fracture or the time it might take to wrap up a body.
The China dog tugged at its leash while in the radium light,
center and slightly, a zebra stood standing still .
The day had been ethereal until. ..
And where was the other when she needed a friend
