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Ten years into memory, a house      in the bright fluid time—dark grain of walnut,      dark women’s bodies, flower-shadows            in paintings by sisters. 1632 Walnut Street:      the solid multiples of eight                  like a vintage Oldsmobile, the curves of the numbers,      the porch, its roof,                  the porch light shaped a little by…

Your words, my father, are clouds, spirits to inhabit, things to trace in the changes of light. Where fish dart in the shallows and the sun follows on the rise of the island, in the circle of birds, your “historia scholastica” will vanish, like these clouds, each a life with its own shadow on the…

                       You stand waiting. You listen.                        At your back the house is still,            between the tickings of clocks and timbers.                  Beneath the rough soles of your feet you can feel the cellar stretching to its foundations —            silence in the stone, the furnace brooding.            …

In the night of the changing year I misplaced winter. Tumbling down with the old sins, the promises, I woke up sniffing. No cares. Walkway splashes sing to my ears of an evening in May. The scent of thirty springs is rising. A full-hipped beauty in green, ripe for the flood, bustles over her scrawny…

Untouchable mother a smirk instead of a smile a ragged lip— I left you kneeling dirty brown water dripping over your hands I took what I wanted: my own arrangements on a clean table under the window lavish chasteness of one rose for the moon a perfect cup and saucer for a dainty tea Your…

Through the soft pulp of farmed pine, the saw moves with the incessant logic of progress. Why stand up when you can fall down? Why be a tree when you can be a house? Here there is nothing to hope for but branches. As the saw works, it whispers of soft flanks weathering in lumberyards….

I mastered the easy ones first. I began with avocado pits and lollipops, belt buckles and keys. I learned that the trick was not to chew but to swallow and savor the wholeness of the thing itself. I nurtured a taste for the outrageous. Goldfish and swords had no allure, nor would I swallow anything…

for Tom What a coincidence. The color of our hair. Ancestral blood. You arriving as I do, our arrival in light. Shine up the pyres now, we can see clear through to the past: one big erasure on the map of Europe. What a common hospitality: a tongue. For example, this dumb lullaby we speak,…

This one does its work by returning over and over to the place where it began until even memory bears no splinters. Flatness, flatness, the plane dreams as it sweeps down every plank envisioning unsown fields, boxcars, Unitarian churches. “Lie down,” sings the plane. “Lie down and be the same as all the rest.”