-the list goes on, on and on, names and dates i've forgotten,

but were an intense vivid and you-always-think-it-will-be-there in deep indigo, mirrors, the tiny magic stage--

maybe, maybe--like the song says, 'some other spring'-- for the ghosts, and onwards, 'for the living--

Eve Packer continues her photojournalistic exploration of New York (and her own emotional interior landscape) in these spare, eloquent poems. Many of the poems have dates, and some are even time-stamped, giving the impression of journal entries. In this way Packer marks events in the news, the seasons, the deaths of friends, and the closing of mom-and-pop businesses with a nod to the passing of time—a reassuring constant when so much else seems to be in flux.

is probably an athlete,
or dancer--tall, slim easy
in her limbs as she rubs