Poem

                                Andrew Boston

               First Epistle

I always forget to pay attention to your breath
To watch your chest rise and fall
At one time, I was ascending
And you were descending
But before that
I was the moat around a tower
I was moving in linear time
You were moving in cyclical time
Forgive me for not being filled by you
For not molding myself to you
I’m only a man with a limited capacity
To think beyond fried chicken and hibernation
So everything that was yours that I kept alive
Inside myself was a reflection
Of the space in between the self you slip on and off
In your waking days
And my own astonishment at not being allowed to know you
I could not draw your hands perfectly
But the architecture of your voice
Is something to dance about
I realize now that I only moved through your empty spaces
Your silences
The weakness of the conveyance
Convalescing at the beginning of each day
Convoluted at the end
You’ve lost your convex belly
I am concave with hunger
The conclave billows a unanimous smoke
All things, in time, will pass through you
Will circle and underline the facts of your life
Will complete the crossword of your willingness
To part from me
A cool voice passing over smooth stones
When spring was born anew I edged into your light
Summer saw you unveiled
In the pagan hours of my misunderstanding
I understood you through my solitude

Andrew Boston lives in Washington D.C.  He is in his third year 

at New York University, where he is majoring in English Lit.