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The Menders and the Breakers

Lesle Lewis
The rain does not cool and is a sticky one to the present and the place.
Is it a weakness, yours for narcotics?
The trees levitate and become mountains.
You stand in the water inside a melancholy boulder.
Now you're a flying sandwich.

From Small Boat by Lesle Lewis, published by the University of Iowa Press. Copyright © 2002 by Lesle Lewis. Reprinted by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

From Small Boat by Lesle Lewis, published by the University of Iowa Press. Copyright © 2002 by Lesle Lewis. Reprinted by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

Lesle Lewis

by this poet

poem
I wanted a horse.  

I jumped from a plane.  

I was not comfortable with your illness.  

I was a detective at the wedding.  

I recognized the new way it would be with you in rehabilitation.  

I saw how the sunset colors on the Navesink River got sad with the lone rower.

I lived on a lone planet with my
poem

Happy for nothing, we could be with no dinner to cook.

Absence is gigantic in our heads and houses.

We’re old and it’s bold to say so standing at the kitchen counter with the flashing red things.

The clock says midnight and we say yes.

When we go out, time always pays.