Jody Azzouni



Originally published in Albatross 23, 2012.
Added 2/20/2021
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Poem | Jody's Notes


The grace of water vapor,

its choreography of light;

occasionally a charred tree:

This is sky’s gift to Earth. We,

we hide in caves, tremble among the bones

of our meal. How clean


the sky, which never eats; how

shorn of stars by its clouds.


We, we bury loved ones in mud, track across

continents, leave fossils, flints, evidence.


Moon ebbs, waxes

without hope, without envy. We tell

its story:


Someone (up there)

cares (is looking out) for us

(even at night).


In some sense, we’re right:

our descendents watch our remains

through glass—point at our depictions,

welcome us into their picture books.


This, in its way, is love.