Forked lightning sears and stabs and stabs again.
The thunderstorm threatening all afternoon,
lowering and dark, has now arrived.

They're not of curves and shadows made.
They don't wear skirts to swoop and tease
the eye, nor toss their hair, nor sway.

I love candy, anything really chewy and so full of sugar it stings like a Sugar Daddy. No matter how much I twist and pull, the long caramel tongue lasts me the full Sunday matinee at Radio City Music Hall, but just in case, I’ve also stored in my pea coat pocket a quarter pound of Swedish Fish. When the magician is pulling a rabbit out of his hat, I

It is possible to be struck by a meteor
or a single-engine plane
while reading in a chair at home.

   “Your glance disrupts my ease, faces
painted onto asymmetric Asmat shields
   imported from Iranian Jaya—

that the mundane might offer with its lines
what sighs beneath the surface, even there,

Still, some shadings of the face persist
a capsule of that day that she'd been glad

Lines and sheets of white are blown, light conjugations,
in layered, flustered carousels and large

The dogs are blind and beautiful. A violet
moment hovers overhead, the evening
shadows fill with figured intimations .

the splendid fall of fabled empire-up here, at night,