I watch like a praying mantis 
In the dawn of the day of the world, 
My fingers are knotted like bamboo-shoots, 

Take back that look. Close the door 
To that shuttered room. 
The thought of what we left, forget. 

Go lift that pane of moonlight from the floor
And tell Nicotiana to stop 
Screaming with her perfume. 

Give me loops.
Give me turtles.

So I don’t think I’ll work today. Today it seems best
To let this bench hold my end up. Today
Of what my part was, brooding

Lifting his head from the paper he noticed her orange hair.

In the drawing room you sat shaven / among cleavages rank with sweat.

Somehow the days take care of themselves.
Desire that feels as if it will scorch
The skin of wanting doesn’t get fulfilled

I wake at night and pace
the length of my digestive tract
to where the path obscures

 Who is in snow?
Where is snow?
Is it raining ice?