And what did you see, sequoia-quiet, looking out at black 
night. No islands, no kings or corridors of fury. 
But the districts where we were born, a few icy stars, 

I've heard the Resurrection never was,
that Christ was never buried, never rose—
(a caveat prescribed by Roman laws).

Each pine’s sun-endowed
shadow follows April’s down-
ward flights and where a crow’s

Our love has chosen its appropriate gesture
Which when viewed in the midst of all the gestures
It didn’t choose seems almost insignificant.

The team goes mum, cowhided by
the rectitude to his position, the logic.

The leaves fall, but not far enough for me,
so I take one up to the top of my favorite highrise,
the one whose TV-transmitters watch farmers.

I didn’t get his name the music of the dancehall
Was point to the noise and names of those people
In whose apartment we mostly ended up: I do recall

Here are the parrots, she says, which Mayor Washington,
the Mayor of Chicago,
in that apartment on Lake Michigan

            A               a
                mammo           pappo
                   gram          gram

Several people from Chelsea, seminarians and clergy,

in the wand of the Oxford Movement transported to America,
made their way out to the Territory, out to Wisconsin,