These are those same trees you saw six months ago.
I’ve drawn them in a way that will explain
Not only their nature, but the nature of snow,

One moment the sky is its usual dark,
Dimensionless self, and the next, with a double burst—
Two spreading spheres of radiance, phosphor

      O for Orchard leads only
to Orchard Hill Miniature Horses,
      then Orchid Coiffeurs.

The poets have all told my story wrong
thought there was a well, and me out all alone.
The well was deep and so the rope was long.

You dismiss the tiny, protesting fraction
back home, claim you've learned a nation

There are certain words—ecstasy, abandon,
surrender—we can wait all our lives,
sometimes,

Naturally, the preference is for
victory, not persistence
which, like fire if not put out,

June is a migraine above the eyes,
Strict auras and yellow blots,
                                                green screen and tunnel vision,

She bought it because her baseball player didn't want her to,
because her playwright and her President and her Attorney
General disapproved. You're a star, they said—the one

A trick of October light
made festive the trek we
took to the empty beach,