There once was a poem whose
first word was
It started with what and went from there.
Diane Seuss
Poetry
There once was a poem whose
OK, three broke,
you don’t need more,
One is fine. None’s sublime.
She is good at curving
against the constellation
of lilies
Who put me on this path? I picture Jesus
setting me down among the rust of late summer
flowers like a doll into a tin
It was marvelous, powerless,
when Kevin
came home—
I called him
Legacy
I think of the old pipes,
how everything white
in my house is rust-stained