Volume II Archive

Michael Willett

Artifact

Pot shard in a frame.
The same as holding
one’s breath to remember the air,
keeping a lock of his hair.
You weren’t there,
or, if you were,
you’re not there
now, and this remembering
doesn’t put you
back there somehow.
It’s a dream of having what
you don’t: a postcard
from Rome, talking on the phone.

I think to pocket maybe some small
piece that will call it all up for me.

Standing in the museum,
I’m trying to think how it will be
to be back. I won’t be the same,
and it won’t be anything
like here, but, having nothing
to show, I won’t be able
to give you the difference
I want you to know