print previewback STEVEN RATINER
So It Goes
Hover, drift, sidle, twist,
dipping a wing, leveling off,
great feather-light planes of color
threaded together like a Miró
mobile suspended in a gulf
of darkness inside some museum
of forgotten days, the faces of strangers
gazing upward, mouthing words you
cannot make out from this all-
consuming distance: hospice, the bed-
side gathering, the long night followed
by the even longer morning. 
Bard
Schubert (with the volume turned up)
So It Goes