Sometimes I think you are absolutely right. Your
  rightness comes to me like the absoluteness
of God. I am vouchsafed the sudden glory

If I had never seen those glossy magazines, how-to-books, or blue
movies I think I’d still slide into the positions
discovered in the caverns of our river bed.

Antlers butting against the full moon.
Bellies lolling on my belly.

In the mornings we’re in the dark;
even at the end of June
the zucchini keep on the sill.

Again the wind
flakes gold-leaf from the trees
and the painting darkens—

Here, where the rivers dredge upthe very stone of Heaven, we name its colors—muttonfat jade, kingfisher jade, jade of appleskin green.

I am your ancestor. You know next-to-nothing
about me.
There is no reason for you to imagine
the rooms I occupied or my heavy hair.

Perched on this metal tripod
silent as an uninspired sibyl

I watch a living body (male,
white, 56) draped in skyblue

The man stands in his boat in his oilskins
On a stream in Rhode Island,
Casting across the pool wedged under his bow

The salesmen, disguised as befuddled policemen, waveringly surrounded the art collector.
They had driven capably all the way from The Hague to East Harlem.
The owners shrewdly viewed their plight with this distorting but comforting disposition: