Since I've lived in many places, it's odd That I continue to waken in Nebraska, Wandering into the sunroom where the wheat Has come up wide overnight. A girl leans Into the wind and it is I. Every day, it seems as though the poets thin; Rare breed. Of the people who have loved me,…
Here comes the hunger for the made thing. For what the sea can't clean further. Here it comes buzzing after a stillness rust can't corrupt nor the secret blue moss under the hill. Don't look back that way, friend, at the not-yet- knotted string—the gorgeous sweep of it the back of things keeps feeding into…
High summer. I lead you to the woods to what must have been a lawn beside the ruins of what was someone's house. Here we lay our things; the blanket, the champagne, the prophylactics. The day so warm and you are beautiful and we don't know what we're doing. Beautiful and perfect, hair loosed as…
and I have five. Surrounded by them, I was manless for years. You led me to kindergarten. In the back alleys of our housing project, in the winter halflight, no neighborhood kid could come between us. At home you called my faults like foul plays: “Error.” This is the walled city, family. Within, all the…
In thrice 10,000 seasons, I will come back to this world In a white cotton dress. Kingdom of After My Own Heart. Kingdom of Fragile. Kingdom of Dwarves. When I come home, Teacups will quiver in their Dresden saucers, pentatonic chimes Will move in wind. A covey of alley cats will swarm on the side…
I was talking about mutual responsibility; you had been interested in my analysis of the problems of dual control in driving lessons; having control when you had none, I said, “Remember that I am saying all this and that I am taking full responsibility for saying this,” and poured my heart out to you. That…
After the cocoon, then the monarch; after the first frost on the glass, we watch the leaves: red for maple, brown for oak. For the last day, wings. In the ancient ceremony silent players enter the festive houses, play dice with the citizens. So these days follow, September to November, like the click of bone…
I Having roughed up the waters wind explodes like the curses from fist-ravaged lips in the cold superpower's innards, squeezing trite wobbles of the do-re-mi from sooted trumpets that lisp. Nonprincess and porous nonfrogs hug the terrain, and a star shines its…
All identity is active statement. —George Steiner 1. A file of dated letters and a voice the important survivor agrees at last to your visit, two days for your recorder. What you know, you review, earliest meetings, estrangements, awkward returnings, rumors and echoes of rumors, questions, a desire to breathe that air. Finally hours of…
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