All things were together.
Then mind came and arranged them.
The table sat by the window. She looked at the vase of flowers, picked it up
and slammed it down. Water flowed over the edge, glass shattered, explosion of
plants and water streaming, streaming.
It’s not snowing yet, it’s wind in your ears. She has lived in England so long
she knows the sun never shines. I look out windows. I talk to her across oceans
about you, about her, about me. About you her me. How we are arranged on
different continents. What arranged us.
Bodies revolt and split into atoms. Lunar bodies, magnoliophyta, anatomy of a
vase. Non-component and measured by weight. She tells me I think too much.
I try to persuade my hand to touch her face. Matter vibrates, disarrayed.
Abby Sugar lives and writes in New York City. She has studied poetry at Barnard College, the University of Michigan, and the Summer Literary Seminars in St. Petersburg, Russia.