Wordless graffiti of unease
when people die where do they go?

And all the while we were ourselves ideas,
not new ones, either, of if not a mind

We’ve loved other bodies the years have altered:
knuckles swollen, skin slackened, eyelids grainy

Their street is being frosted to a myth.

simple as crickets, our own light
blurred in the sparkle of particulars.

If there is a God, he has a lot to answer for.

Elsewhere bears were trusting their bodies
to take them to safety, but what did bears know

It’s vanishing as you speak, the soul-grit,
the story-fodder

What a life you’ve had! A face like a photo album,
a road map of good times. Its zigzagged lines
      resemble

there walked one Iraqi in a three-piece suit
who tried to express by his general indifference