Fred,
I don’t know what to do.
About me and you and the dream
which knocks and knocks at me, now has

But beautiful is the dog lost,
once headed east, then later

in the dark south. But
beautiful is the cold

All day I measure noses.
People are brought before me.
My brass calipers never lie.

Refugees flee their homes. Exiles
move back in, thirty-year echoes
of mortar shells rattling windows.

A naked woman rides a naked man
and vamps, and moans, and both pretend to mount
the summit of desire, although in these

So this is why we broke both of his hands:
his Jesus stole from us the face of God.
We saw only the back he had turned to us

Somebody is always expecting you home.
Somebody's saying you've been gone too long
and stayed too late, and no good can come of it.

My eldest son rolls over in his sleep
and, like an actor mid-soliloquy,
he murmurs, “Nothing—”

Your eyes show peace, discord
is foreign to your lips;
most necessary motion

I can’t even sin, Nora’s back on the eaves, butt complacent as a nest:
gravity can’t seem to win.