Shut-in Suite

Closed doesn’t close until you say the d.
Don’t shut the door, d.
But the d
does it, 
              quietly —
like a hand braced 
against a door 
closing, against a mouth 
closing, a tongue tip 
behind teeth then 
lifting 
              Closed
feel it as you say it, its lift 
of good riddance 
              at the end —

ξ

And so the soul asked again
of the body (every day
it asked again), When —

ξ

Our time on this Earth may be ending, but I have enjoyed looking 
at clouds —

ξ

Dana Levin’s fourth book is Banana Palace (Copper Canyon Press 2016), a finalist for the Rilke Prize. Previous collections include In the Surgical Theatre, Wedding Day, and Sky Burial, which The New Yorker called “utterly her own and utterly riveting.” Levin is a grateful recipient of many honors, including those from the NEA, PEN, the Library of Congress, as well as the Rona Jaffe, Whiting, and Guggenheim Foundations. A teacher of poetry for over twenty-five years, Levin serves as Distinguished Writer in Residence at Maryville University in St. Louis. http://www.danalevinpoet.com/