News
has it that late in the month the sun had an outburst

It rises from childhood
like a humpback whale, water
streaming down the grill, 

A steep cemetery of a smile,
the last century—what a century!

The atmosphere surrounding you
reaches heights in which
it changes things

Oie Cythaera
Land out of which I might never have
Limped into this day which holds me now

An eye for an eye, love
A mouth for a mouth
Next me lie, love

The old woman who sees him sleeps in that house
By his boots she knows him, his long white coat

The bright young bones growing turn like green tendrils

Where there’s no quarrel, but there’s fate
A scream unhurried of music’s choice

But men married in New York or else women
Dominate the pavement from where they stand,