The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.
Books are a load of crap.
It is like what we imagine knowledge to be.
They fuck you up.

Here is a coast; here is a harbor.
Funny how hard it is to be alone.
Loneliness clarifies,
cold dark deep and absolutely clear.

This is the first thing
I have understood:
Somebody loves us all.
Earth’s immeasurable surprise.

I live only here, between your eyes and you.
How separate and unearthly love is.
I live, I breathe, by swallowing.
What will survive of us is love.

*With Lines from Elizabeth Bishop and Philip Larkin

Gene Twaronite is a Tucson poet and the author of five poetry collections. His first poetry book, Trash Picker on Mars, was the winner of the 2017 New Mexico-Arizona Book Award. A strong vein of the absurd runs through much of his writing. His latest poetry collection, Death at the Mall, will be published by Kelsay Books in late summer 2024. He leads a poetry workshop for the University of Arizona OLLI program. Follow more of Gene’s writing at his website: genetwaronitepoet.com.