The Ancient Modern

The Sea Is Nothing  /  Joshua Alan Sturgill

To misremember
is not to forget. Maybe you
standing with the ocean

on your shoulders
and only the coda of sunset
between us is a truth

without history. Years
are pages and leaves in
tide-washed succession.

Couldn’t memory, too,
have its own depths,
its tenseless currents

of evidence? In my hand,
the yellow photograph:
concrete driveway, packed

car, overcast afternoon.
I concede. Yes, this was one
of possible days. But I

taste salt in the sky
how cold was the water
and so many stars


All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2021 by Joshua Alan Sturgill. All rights reserved.

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