Running out of ourselves urgent
anxious we were spirits of some kind
ghoulish forgotten ones

living in half-light we could barely peep in
and never found ourselves in photographs

we found nothing made by our own hands

Reger’s poetry wraps you in narratives of love and pain, sadness and longing. There is no escape from the sadness in the ballad “An Old Song.” Neither is there from the death of two lovers whispering lullabies on the banks of the Tigris in “The Incident.” Nor from the longing in the lyrical poem “Acceptable.”