I do not understand this child
Though we have lived together now
In the same house for years. I know

Once, but once, did I fail my Muse, who, lying
(Golden-shadowed shape) by the flaring candle,
Urged me upward. But there was more to dying

Evasive souls, of whom the wise lose track,
Die in each night, who, with their day-tongues, sift
The waking-taste of manna or of blood:

The avenue rises toward a city of white marble.
I am not meeting anyone. The capitol is empty.
I enter the dome of sleep.

In the concrete cells of the hatchery
He nourished a dream of living
Under the ice, the long preparations

Liberal, blue-eyed, shivering, trying not
to look like a bill
collector or detective,

“Red as butchered beasts
 Miracle-mongers end;
 Sang the first wound

I’m drunk. My head holds up 
the soft vibrations of the room. 
Dusk. My daughter jogs her answer 

Bracelets, jade, rubies, teak, silver chain armlets,
Topaz, smoking sapphire, diamond tortoises of gold, 
Columbus glimpsed them behind the green hills before he died;

The delicate foot of 
Phoebe Isolde Farmer 
taps measures acceptable to, among others, the