Poetry at Sangam



She is on Her Way by Stephen Collis

When I consider
how our rights are spent
movement and the purchase
of all or anything—
doves in the rafters
the various undergrounds
foxglove—a river
I cannot name—
then judiciously I turn
to the pure density
of less than familiar cities
their intersecting energies
height of trees in parks
where the drinking water
might pipe in from
and I do something
that sometimes looks like
hope—seek out the absences
that so obviously outline
the presences that overwhelm
find the beauty of faces
that smile through their pain
at the glimmer of another
perhaps yet possible world—
still think there’s no other way
until—Arundhati—on a quiet day
I can hear her breathing