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Published: Sun Jul 1 2007
Eva Lundsager, Were now like (detail), 2021, oil on canvas
I Cannot Name Him

I know him by despair,
know his truck is the truck

that levels the trees I know him
late at night in bed, dark lake—

one great eye opening suddenly.

I awaken in the ink-fleck to the call
of my name and find no one there—

stuck breath, echoed third—
air static, staccato, disturbed.

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