By C. D. Wright (1949–2016), from ShallCross, which will be published next month by Copper Canyon Press. Wright was the author of more than a dozen volumes of poetry. She died in January.

If one stood perfectly still. Even in the withering hours

of then. Hair down to here. Being alive and quiet.

One could forget oneself. Forget what one didn’t even recognize.

How mad it felt. Subliminally. One could pick out goldfinches

and mourning cloaks among the dying stalks of cosmos,