from House/Boat
The night soon lost its head.
Pulling up now, parking,
looking for something to eat,
to redeem.
The wind shook the seedpod but the seedpod
wasn't moved.
And though I thought I'd done the damage I was born for,
there was still so much to step through,
so much to mar.
Untitled
The emptying parking lot, the tube of hair gel, the unmade bed,
this drop of sauce on my sleeve,
I understand what they mean. For thus, by ordinary actions
and without attracting attention,
I can cut some of the roots of the tree.
He tells me she’s studying Italian. This is disquieting
as English is now so troublesome.
The scent of dirt in front of my house,
shade and ivy-covered earth: the work of a generation.
I knew just what he wanted but didn’t respond—
this is the problem of the mind.
My mother seeing snow says the snow is scared, or scarred, by the shadows of alders.
