From […], which was published in March by Milkweed Editions.

Aggressors also grieve.

What hell a lucky life can be.

I tried but couldn’t

catch fish in a mirage,

headed straight to the sea.

The sea fished out like a land.

My other half-lives

did not set me free. The mirage

of the solid self in ruins,

gigantic in departure. And the waves

of the sea growing serene whisper

what they used to scream:

I am not your translator.