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Definition Alan Semerdjian Heartache is the last imagined petal falling at she loves me not. O Alan Semerdjian I heard your echo in the passenger seat afraid of the dark let out a tiny sonorous o and let voice’s dust settle the pitch, beating the chance of melody to the punch, dove like a swallow, a childless mother a hole in the nest or the first sensation of flight, the soft cut of air under wings loose caressing the undersides and finally freedom. Afternoon Alan Semerdjian The shadows after trees make a web that spreads across the sidewalk to the rest of the lot, your leaves, the melody that runs through this breath, in one ear and out the other, the time I’m always the most awake, always slipping past the reach of a grab, always staid in between a coming and a listless going, a mutable shape in the mirror of a floor, a road trapped in afternoon light I’m never long enough for. Romance in a Bookstore Alan Semerdjian I would lean sideways those days on shelves too high to look down so we found ourselves up to our necks in holes only smelling letters until finally I stole a copy of the love you intended for me from the place where you brought it from: asphodel that greeny flower slipped notes in wells to hear your voice retrieve them and still I would climb over symmetry for you.

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