A time comes when a single word assumes the shape
it names, ungraspable still, dying into meanings
that graze the heart, written only for you to read,
that little hesitation in the wind, the second thoughts
that fill our windows, the silence that grows unbearable
between your uneven breaths that I breathe as my own.
— Richard Jackson, from “Preemptive Elegy,” Out of Place: Poems (The Ashland Poetry Press, 2014)