The Couriers

By Sina Queyras

Words from a leaf on the shell of a snail?

Tendency as reciprocity etched in shale.

Cider vinegar wrapped in sealskin?

Accept it, so little is genuine.

A box on a meteor compelled by earth?

Lies, emptiness, grief: it’s not a first.

Frost on the dock at Penetanguishene?

Tears from Lake Huron, Erie, and Michigan.

Not a moment to yourself?

Don’t let love put you on a shelf.

A preponderance of errors?

The soft one sucks her rivers.

Love, love, needs no reason.

Yes, yes, yes, is my season.

Source: Poetry (November 2015)