and it was as if the book
would never end, The Story
of Yes. having already
read so much, why not
again until the pages
yellowed, bloodied by
highlighter, and the
binding turned slowly
to dust? how to know
the shapes of a Yes,
know it by name or
the ways it can curve
into itself, spin with joy
or how to forget Yes, recall being
a thing of the past. this time
we read alone. whether in an
emptied room or amongst crowds
of the godless, sometimes Yes
happens alone.