One moment the sky is its usual dark,
Dimensionless self, and the next, with a double burst—
Two spreading spheres of radiance, phosphor

The pie here doesn’t taste
As though it were meant
To be eaten nor can I

Half a summerhouse
half a pound of butter
half a child.

It was a perfectly
normal day.
We were agreeable

You swing yourself
from hour
to hour.

Husbands
fill up
the whole world

The grass is full of codes.
The signs are everywhere:
used condom, apple core, a baby’s sock.

I’m at a double wake
in Springfield, for a childhood
friend and his father

Dear heart, wish you or I were here or there . . .
No. That’s not true.
I wish I knew that you

The mind may not mind death. It means
at last letting go, the inevitable
capitulation. After all, it’s tired,