We heard the rain and those
who were returning: each thing
in the calm of speaking

Now she is unadorned
and the years come to pass, in handfuls,
with the wit of shears and

All of you no doubt have felt
the soft sleep, the sweetest dizziness
easing you down on the bed

 When they start to wear your clothes
do their dreams become more like yours
who do they look like

They say the sun will come back
at midnight
after all

The father of two silver medal figure skaters
said, “When they were eight and ten, I built a rink, twenty
by forty in the yard, without a fence. There was nothing

A soft, motiveless conversation that might never end
In a country of size, so beautiful days did not finger each ear.
Near one end grackles, the birds in armor,

But in the stippled, rose velvet
Buds of staghorn sumac, in rust-
  Bright veins of briar,

We were tuned like two crystal sets to the race stations
where we heard the saxophones of the Black Zion.

In the dark we crossed the borders of the Caucasus

A tiny blemish where the sun-
glasses touch his cheek. It will fade.
From the corner of each eye, uneven notches