Contaminated air, poisoned ground,
Infected bodies in the cemetery, and the dead
Scattered in the fields in grievous wars,

In Classical Attica it wasn't heinous,
tanned Danaan hands consigning cherubs
to the gods' protection, to die in earthen pots.

He’d been through too much for this,
the guilt that frets forgetfulness.

I see it like a movie screen:
salty green horizon, cloudy blue water.
You step, a pillar on the deck,

I’m the family Augustine. Beth trusts
Your Plato talk. Give her your confessions
About the undergraduates you do.

I got away with it all summer will
I get away with it all fall
& more importantly winter.

It is the first day of spring, the children are singing
(they are supposed to be sleeping) the clock is ticking
the cats are waiting for supper, one of them pregnant

Once I’m sure there’s no one else around I
climb, spider-silent, toward my treehouse, held like
a saucer on fingertips in the middle limbs of the oak.

Two by Tiepolo, both depicting cages.
In one the long-nosed Punchinello stares at a tiger
in a cage mounted on large wagon wheels. In Visiting

Above the dog-eye-colored land
And town of San José
Of hot dog-fur and tin,