after First by Michelle Naka Pierce
It was a hypothesis first.
Who said the loss was a result of
knowing what was, once impossible?
Thus the loss came with the possible.
The wind picking up speed, gusting
against the glass panes above the creek.
We do not know who. Perhaps one
washed clean from the rain. One
a certainty, an acute angle, a bond. A
squall of raindrops cut through by
a tentative suggestion. An absence
(caused) by this appearance. A callous wood floor
reaching, kicking through the window. A
hypostasis of the loss, our possibility, our
forgotten necessarily not, the wind
picking up snow from the north.