He begins by troubling your
thoughts, the egg white you drop
into a glass makes the shape of a
coffin. You wander and return
to the same spot, to the same flushed
stoop of trees; hoisted from the ground
and thrown against a stone wall;
the cart-horse's tack all flung to
pieces; and you can't lift a half
bushel of corn when he visits
disguised as a neighbor pretending
to buy a hogshead, giving you sleeves
to dye. He knocks your shovelboard
into the fire, causing your infant
to cry, your children to fall down and
bruise their faces, cuts pieces out
of your windpipe with his fingernails.
When he leaves, you see a black pig
in the hallway vanishing, returning
by the fire, vanishing. Someone left a cake
made of urine, rye in the fire-ash
and the pig ate it. Strange arrangement
of dried peas, nails upon the fire grate.