You haven’t said more.
It sits inside you like a wet package.
The heat dissolves. Night comes in
through French doors. It is all accompanied by
people jabbering on cell phones, which is
its own inhospitable forecast. Vans
drive the street. I remember
the movie we didn’t watch, the plot we didn’t
Whichever of us likes an aquarium has
some need for scale.
the lengths of industrial glass where nothing is
swimming. At night, I watch you watch
the plaid in your sleep.
Lizards on trees. Wet birds jabbing
at the air. Anything if it is disjunctive enough
can sound full of meaning.
Anything can be in the final shot.
— “Summer in Its Individual Parts,” Darrin Ciccotelli
Fireproof — The National
I Need My Girl — The National
— Excerpt from “In Lansing,” Matthew Thorburn