A poem must break to the surface
and nibble at light,
confounding refraction

I have a gift for you.
Please open it now
For inside you will find the words

It’s raining for some reason over West St. Clair St. 
That merges in a cloud bank with Riddle Rd.; 
Evening Star Lane lent me to kiss Iris one fine night 

I could not see the life I live.
Wheeling to catch it as it was,
I found myself the fugitive;

Many spoons in the sink, and that means it was a dull night, too much coffee and ice cream, not enough foreplay. If there are many forks, it was probably a good night. But most importantly if there were many knives used, it was a great night, even if misunderstandings arose, people 

Each time we travel, one less object followed. One object was left behind.

And when I dream of her movies
My life is beautiful

It is her, your sister, she said. Brother and sister cried. What is she doing on radio? Yes, brother cried, it is her, I know. 

It is eighty years I listen to fortune teller
Say that reunions with lost ones
                                                                   approach.