American Culture · American Literature · Excerpt · Fragment · Online Anthology · Online Magazine · Passage · Periodical · Poetry

Willy Clay

There are the holes in my voice
where my heart appears,
the ways you pronounce my name
until it becomes naked–
the two of us laying down
one loneliness after another
until we reach love.

— Willy Clay, from “In Our Museum,” Poetry (February 1994)

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