I can’t sleep. I feel the globe
making a rotation, 
and I’m not supposed to be, but I’m awake for it. 

I’m at that age when everyone is talking about the kinds of love 
they’ve been using to get by. 

It’s a very dark late. 
The sound of a towel dropping off the rack 

into the bath 
carries my name with it.

I get up to turn on the dryer 
to block out all possibilities of ever 

hearing anything else so 
fall.



Annie Guthrie
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