What Depths We Have
Three lines, written in Florence — on the strange privilege of being moved by people who don't exist.
Wrote this in Florence one afternoon, watching strangers move through a piazza. Sometimes the smallest noticing is the whole poem.
You can feel deeply
For characters in movies
Oh what depths we have
It’s a small mercy that we cry for fictional people. The crying is proof of the muscle. We have the capacity. The question is just where else we’re willing to spend it.
— JTC