Of all the notes, scraps and scribbles
Crushed in my fist for oblivion's food
(Not to spare the name of God—

I have stacked and restacked the hay bales
now that the horse isn’t here
to kick them over and over.

Even the sea is put to bed.
Even the cliffs along the shores look both ways

Everyone is dead, has been dead / for a long time

I go to the closet to select a tie.
I say to myself what could happen.

We did not cry out in alarm. Jill
did fall down, and something spilled.

It is here but the colors
have stayed away. Guests
to no one—they pout inside

A man is teaching his son to play the piano. He tells the boy, the piano loves to be touched.

We begin, we extend, we reach forth, we
entice, we commence, we begin to dream, we

It is a world / rich with possibilities, but slim in actualization.