A train of little m’s behind the plow. America:
So many centuries thicken its animal sound,
This mammoth that holds us between its knees,

Too much of a subject can interfere,
Be a drag, so subvert the procedure to which it refers
That the wisest course is to visit it just for fun,

The senses of one’s
life begin
to fade. Rather,

The time is. 
The air seems a cover, 
the room is quiet.

After we
were all
a bed,

Is hunger
only automatic
appetite?

Blast of harsh
flat sunlight

on recalcitrant ground

A little
water
falls.

Needs most
happily mutual

Place it,
make the space

of it. Yellow,