All night the slur of cars. Now
one closer, now up-
        voluming, & I lean

against the doorframe, listening.
        I’ve nothing to wake you for.
The earth’s hot core whorls

Like an alarm I can’t shut off, the summer.
Like air raid sirens stuck on
the world is burning, the world is burning
& I can’t stop it. Can’t stop ash from the reddening

sky falling dry onto grass, onto clover
lit purple at their tips. Mouth level.
My cheek muscles the ground. I can’t hear

anything here. I can’t hear
them but I know, around me,
forests are not quiet as they burn.

this sharpness of pines, this gravel loose
beneath us, faltering with each rustle, each step, with what we’re not
saying to each other—Now your flashlight’s beam angles

My daughter screams: I don't believe in  t h i s  God.
I don t believe in an God.
And she escapes into tears over Kafka's Castle.

In the dun-colored sky
A cloud even more dun-colored
With the black outline of the sun.

The town’s southeastern edge.
Tolbiac Bridge down there.
Endless freight terminal.

Virginal decorations.
The pain of countless upside-down candles.

Vegetables embody overlooked power. Think of your mother
standing over you when you wouldn’t eat spinach
and Bush turning his back on bouquets of broccoli.

She helps her son detach the kneecap from the leg
and wash it in the stream.

Where do you come from?      Where did you grow?     Your leaving
brought you here     To the nest at the center of your home     Where
have you flown?     Your lowered gze at the center of your home     Where