The great
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I’ve never been
to heaven
I’ve never been to heaven,

A fragment
A fragment
from a North

Her name 
was Margaret 
and she drummed 

Forests burn into their clearings. A sense of dread.

We want to see the Statue of Liberty giggling.

In my experience—waking
life—nothing had readied me for such an arrival.

Gravedigger of moths,
Prince of bedbugs,
Tuner of the harps of black ants,

Here there are small animals 
foraging and content
Perhaps this is what’s called 

At sunset the mill workers convene at the tavern
talking of their children and how they bathed them in a cistern.
One man compared the evening sunset to his boy's letter