Last week I walked right past my mother’s

Twin sister who does live
On the same hill in the same city and who sometimes I do

See, but this was the first in the grocery, the one
I prefer. This

Is a strangeness. Living in
Midst. My mother’s twin sister

Matters in the mirror: her face
The word wish but with dust in it, her location

Less place than condition. A flower
By the stem

For the root. So of silence they say
There are so many kinds — and I have

Practiced so few.