I do not move through time. I move
through rain. When rain falls
straight down on mossy brick walks

Across my work yard the bones lie,
a rubble in crests and waves, piled
white, grooved brown, ocean to ocean—

We think they go well together—the translucent
vanilla orchid, the slipper orchid, the ginger
fragrances of the fiddle leaf, the swollen,

Some part of every living crearure
is always trembling, a curious
constancy in the wavering rims

For the orange, saucer-eyed
lemurs indri of the family sifaka,
it is the perfect forest of the hot,

And the house became the spring
night—the hallway a vernal hallway

But it’s also how the noisy
crow enlarges the territory