The blanket, its weight, while we were growing.
Or the eyes, which yesterday were blind,
today yours, yesterday the indivisible. The vials,

We heard the rain and those
who were returning: each thing
in the calm of speaking

Steely forehead. Steely forehead.
When the sun comes up, you’ll have it quenched.
You feed with me among the sky’s black chains.

it will comprehend everything
with the struggle in the room, the imploring
look and then:

Now she is unadorned
and the years come to pass, in handfuls,
with the wit of shears and

Only this growing
indifferent to the glance and full
of what one has seen

even if the desire
is to believe in everything at once
uttering a quiet, intense thanks

“I would only like to repeat, you know, nothing else”
this afternoon
it’s impersonal, does not apply to anyone

All of you no doubt have felt
the soft sleep, the sweetest dizziness
easing you down on the bed

Port with the tossed deck, whipping
Sheep-bends between the coiled lines.
We lean. Our faith in bracing and ballast.