There she is turned into a lollipop
a large egg-shaped lollipop,
not passed around, but twirled in the mouth,

Very simple love that believes in words,
since I cannot do what I want to do,
can neither hug nor kiss you,

Surely it’s ridiculous maybe even scandalous
that I feel such overpowering envy
for the eleven-year-old son who’s dozing

You sit at the head of the table
heady with wine,
and hold forth,

My house is mine:
the choice of menu,
the radio and television,

Why do they lie down
when I shoot them?
Such open,

And so,        my father rode the devil
out of the Kawasaki        1300-cc six-cylinder
I’d wash Sundays.        We, the Kingdom Riders.

Last night, sensing the signs, Australia’s long-
time light-welterweight champ Kostya Tszyu 
threw in the towel on his last title fight

The veil between the worlds is growing thin.
The grass is growing tall outside the door.
Who was that baby in the dream again?

It was like taking the train across a border between two countries with disparate languages, one built like a fortress and one slinky as a river, and thinking about how orderly languages are, keeping within borders.