What Matters

a new poem

What Matters 

Not distinguishing between major and minor. 
An hour that reminds you of a possible life.
People in motion.
Any view of the sky. 
Living alone with your passion.
A body of water on a day 
where there is little but fog.
Not the way others remember you.
Silence.
Long dinners.
The privilege of being drained by time.
A vase full of color.
A doorway in evening.
The moments before you are spoken to.
Summer.
Style.
The last sentence of a novel.
The poem in its entirety
(and “the United States themselves
are essentially the greatest poem”).
Eternity in friendship.
Staying on course.
Loss.
Rain. 
The past.
Anything that takes you away from the past. 

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