It is possible to have everything, like listening for a music in the music. Somehow I am walking down Patton and Walnut, and somehow it is there— the primordial quivering, catching a whiff of magnitude down a side street: a quality of sun and air, or the pairing of two dead leaves on the sidewalk just so. Turning, I pass a blonde woman in a turtleneck, a dog tied to a bench and bam! find the man who owes me twenty dollars. It is possible to have everything, or at least twenty dollars, which is also everything when I spend it on a Death in the Afternoon for my woman and myself, the champagne and absinthe mixed to form a sort of cloud. Like when I walked the Rue Delambre, at night, blossoming inward like a chrysanthemum for a small view of the Seine, and thought for once, surely now is enough. To arrive this late and still be the first. Like the body saying, again for the first time. What is everywhere offers itself, again, itself.

BRIAN SNEEDEN is an MFA candidate at the University of Virginia, where he holds a Poe/Faulkner Fellowship and serves as Poetry Editor for Meridian. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Beloit Poetry Journal, Harvard Review Online, Ninth Letter, and Virginia Quarterly Review. His manuscript, “Ithaka,” was a finalist for the 2013 New Michigan Press/DIAGRAM Chapbook Contest in poetry.