You’re loose,
sometimes good
and lonely almost

all day I’ve watched two white moths
trail and braid each other in flight

She doesn’t think so much about the boats
Drifting back at sunset from the fields
Of fish—rubber boots and sunnyslickers
Against the spray and mist of the expiring day.
The water antipellucid, murky and cold,
The revenue of the nets now aboard.

Sometimes when you’re not thinking
what you think most common
goes beyond everything you’ve ever known,

Sometimes you called on those
you’d never know
to come with you in place

Have you ever dreamed you had sex with someone
   you aren't remotely interested in,
like a guy you work with or one of your husband's friends,

I am trying on an especially evil-looking pair of shoes
when the shopgirl points to the middle of her face and says,

"This is called what?" For a moment I draw a blank as I search

The cattle carry their birds out from under
The tresses of the willow tree, past
The Ancient Ship and into the blooming pond.

As Golden Gate Park lies sunken in sea fog
concealing in heaps of sodden brown leaves
beer cans, condoms, a soccer ball,

Your fingers, wisps of blanket hair
Caught in their nails, extend to touch
The bedside roses, flaking in the heat.