God appeared to Dante as a cloud.
Dante had been lying on the ground

On a street in a city a thousand miles inland
a woman I'd never met grabbed me by the shoulders
and shook me and shook me and shouted

Writing becomes distant and portraits of hosts crowd the space. The next page becomes as cornered and concerned as a studied artifact. Thoughts not towards anything but embodying a lot of writing. Too many military wives are being arrested. The tiny bit of wandering summarized by a spartan attitude of space.

My mother wants to see me again. That means she’d like me
   to shave off my beard.

Tonight I spent a good while in the garden,
thinking about—well, sitting amongst the flowers
I love to see, and, when it grew too dark,

Among the things that we don't know
about their civilization is the name by which

they called a clay plate such as this, that is

Like Casanova, you made love to trouble, cruising
for gondoliers, the thrust of the oar, desire and pursuit.

What did we want, waiting all day for storm clouds to
     reach us,

Morning, on the quay, there’s a break in the light
rain here in the serene republic. I take in the light.