are any houses. That’s for sure. And as for
cars, trucks, tractors, trailers, motorcycles,
you’re in another universe, friend. At most

On the chine of the first white inkling of the winter
The Ravenmaster wraps his limbs in combs of wind.

It is November; the tower closes down

They burned our witch last Tuesday, so sad
to watch her go up like a puff of smoke,
the pale ash excited into air

The prince is waving good-bye. Good-bye Prince,
we shout as he ascends the steps of his coach,
Good-bye! Then he is gone with a contagion

Until the lid is on the box
the box we are is open
except when it’s not

Dogs bark, say the Russians,
But wind blows it away.

Rose petal, rose mouth, rose, open to humming
beaks and hairy bees, swinging warm
in sun, rose wet with inner dew,

Nothing in all the world is quite so lonely as a lover who wants to love but loses his beloved in a jungle the two of them helped one another create, plant by tree by vine.

Everyone has advice, lots of suggestions,
Some bring him plastic bowls, tin cans,
Old buckets; someone with half a degree