I wrote this with my friend Mary, who is a genius. She is going to change the world, and I’ll just say, “I knew that all along.”

Untitled
by Mary and Jackie

Friday.
There is rain falling on Green Lake, and how can you say
the words that hang between you
like a veil you cannot tear?

The swans are quiet now, a silence that digs and destroys,
and you marvel that he can believe the sun will ever rise.

Saturday.
There is rain falling on Green Lake, a liquid pit that
takes and takes and never gives.

Sunday.
There is rain falling on Green Lake, and this time, you see it:
the stark splendor of it all, and the echo of the swan’s lamentation,
which roots you to the earth like a promise.