Issue 162, Summer 2002
What novel is worth its ink if the hero's ship
never finishes sinking, if the cold tide
never tumbles him ashore into the provincial care
of two strolling shepherds?
But I'm not writing to beg leniency;
rather, to offer warning:
For so long I thought myself irreversibly
singular, but I've met another who shares
features almost indistinguishable
from my own and with them seeks to steal
everything I call my own.