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by ben clark and dana mckenna

as invisible hands

take turns


tucking in the loose

ends of day.


My own,

I commit


to cleaning

another mess


I made, and told

you to leave alone.


Every time I sweep

there’s somehow


a thin skin

of sand on the floor.


What sort of

routine is this?


You dive into

the new city


like you already know

what lies below


the surface, how

deep the bottom.


I lick apricot jam

from a spoon,


sip from an

empty mug,


the motion what’s

most important.


I take three baths

a day, wonder


if the neighbors

can hear the faucet


shudder when I fill

the tub again.


After hours apart

you ask, want to look


at the lake and

just sit with me?


Not ready

to respond,


I try again

to beckon


both wolves

with open palms,


enough food

to feed us all.

Dana McKenna and Ben Clark currently live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and have collaborated on over fifty poems together.

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