Robert Beveridge writes

IN PRAISE OF THE VICTORIAN NOVEL
for Laura Aquilino

You smiled today, touched

my hand in greeting. I could no longer see

the fires along the river at night

yet again they sprang forth

those talismans

against the flood that threatens

to overcome us.

What great beast is this? One more

sweaty night, no end to this heat

can't sleep so I think of you

wait for something, nothing

you'll know it when you find it.

Hadn't seen you for two days

after I read you my last poems.

Are you in bed with the verse

I opened to you? Do you wonder

if I write you another? I do.