Daughter of thunder, she of lightning, she
   Of rain, met on the heath, with what
Remained for him to find out and for them

Snow fell all night and suddenly there was morning:
a startling vision from a familiar window,
   while yet an ordinary sight: a

We were unencumbered then by the likes
Of hope—a childish thing yet put away

I hear a river thro’ the valley wander
Whose water runs, the song alone remaining.
A rainbow stands and summer passes under,

The varnished, waxed, mahogany veneer of the table-top
Where he sat, unable to write truthfully of what truth was,
Shone back at him, uninvitingly showing only his own

The house is humming with many lives today.
Too drowsy even for a slice of apple
or her own glass of wine, she prepares

Beginning as usual in the dark
well of an expensive late-night taxi,
you recall this scene; your father rushes

talked to my father again a dream he seemed happy
perhaps a little older than the last time       told me
he had discovered something called “le jazz hot” 

inside my mother
i make a little fist
& then i punch her

We were descending, and sounds rushed
into the now-opened portal to the eardrum:
the shudder of the jet powering back, suddenly.