How far are you
distant cousin
from the bright walls
of this Berlin,
made so by us
in the mercy
of our labors?
Into the bloodstream
something has slipped,
folded under
the other cells,
inoperable:
I've seen the films
they kill you in.

Aktaeon¹

My illness had fallen into remission,
and through the hallways of the Berkshires
we drove home from the hospital.

Your shoulders floated in the dark,
and the small hands resting in your lap
were cupped as if to hold a head.

Thirty miles outside town
the velvet bodies of deer appeared,
strewn against the barrier.

¹ A huntsman who had witnessed the goddess Artemis bathing, and as a punishment was transformed into a stag and devoured by his own hounds.

Adam Dressler graduated Harvard with a degree in Classics in '97 and has since become an unexpected businessman, selectively selling his soul for stock. The endless rows of unread books lining his shelves are his strongest reminder of his true, lost literary calling. He has taken workshops from Carl Phillips, Henri Cole, and Lucie Brock-Broido.

 Adam

 Dressler