“Pieces of righteousness look like a river of baroque pearls with mean, red, pre-digital eyes. ” Kathleen Ossip looks ahead and gathers her “ragged power,” trying for some way to do better this time.
“What does infinity look like? It hurts. // Its bodilessness hurts.” In Hartsdale, when “It’s no / longer possible for anyone to stop where she is,” Kathleen Ossip wonders her way into a poem of cycling, elastic, uncertain beauty.