Nothing fairer under the sun than to be under the sun…

Who is living down below? Who is crying…
Who has lost his housekey?

Our field is the sky,
tilled by the sweat of motors,
in the face of night,

Dawn was their greeting time.
Welcome back, he said quietly.

Concoct the stories of your own life.
The masks and costumes assumed from infancy.
Make up the true things as well as the lies.

Yes, like you, I too have been summoned
by an urgent phone call from someone
whose name I never knew

I murder my own grandmother    stuff
her corpse in my top bureau drawer
among my underwear    nightmare of

My mother shrugged off life
Three thousand miles from Paris,
City of her birth. It takes