It’s nice to have a lake to love me,
that can see under all my disguises—
where there is only animal survival

In the dream,
a priest said
it was time

Eating a sugar sandwich, I sit at the kitchen table
admiring the geraniums outside the window,
their big heads as American as Martha Washington.

Not knowing the difference between Heaven
And Paradise, he called them both Heaven.
So when he shrugged at the thought of a god

The wintered trees shine white in the white sun
Daydreaming of West Indian dawn—,
Of palms that line the bright back of a beach,

Roadside grasses are seen
to vary, stem and thistledown:
pale straw or light brown,

Birds don’t care that the land is ugly,
decorated with handsome cattle
and advertisements for elk jerky

Sat up
Like a firecracker
In bed,

Dine in style tonight
With your misery, Adele.
Put on your silver wig

You’ve been paying visits
To that hunchbacked tailor
In his long-torn-down shop,