Andrew Zawacki

Viatica (12)

one by one the architraves, they were part
of the falling snow, and one by one

these brothers of mine, who walk
on broken feet through falling snow:

and the women my mouth evented
to who slept inside the snow, one by one

their lips on salted glass, its opulent glare,
and the hair they left to be forgotten by:

and one by one the pallid restorations
of my sight, its orange trees and wisteria

took part in the staging of snow, even if
nothing resembled the lithium snow:

one by one the visitors saying
fuck you, I don’t remember,

I can’t feel my face,

vanishing into a fever, a falling,

my namesake every one, and under
the book of ignition another book

to offer us up, who stand beneath
ourselves to seek ourselves:

vertigo, vertigo,
wherever you go I also will go

and we will be part of the falling
if not a part of the snow—

and stillborn a verdelho sky, one by one
its bezeled hypotheses, all of them wrong,

and one by one the nascent, the near
occasion of, opening my open eyes, and only

snow had nothing to do with the snow