Tonight I spent a good while in the garden,
thinking about—well, sitting amongst the flowers
I love to see, and, when it grew too dark,

Morning, on the quay, there’s a break in the light
rain here in the serene republic. I take in the light.

Like Proust’s maman, she stayed in when I prowled
the alleyways at night, making a point
of waiting, lit up in the window, gold

Without television, they might have been
no more than stolen coins left
on a railroad track and flattened,

You must have looked so small
treading hungry water
with Rex and Elizabeth.

While you are sleeping
in a bed tethered to the wall
by the cord

You have shown me
that there is no trick

He takes night as a kind of medicine,
swallowing it with a buck and shiver.
Sometimes a drowning muse come from within

The fish circle the seas a thousand times
a day, never diverging from the endless
path of blue opening up before them. 

The house is humming with many lives today.
Too drowsy even for a slice of apple
or her own glass of wine, she prepares