The things I saved up there—mantis legs, cat fur,
porcupine quills tied with twine. I thought
this was religion. To climb through leaves

Celan's,
meeting with Heidegger:
by John Felstiner's account

Their lives are turning into gold. The door
Bristles with brass, its own commissionaire—
A valedictory hand swims up

Not the abrupt way, frozen
In the one glance of a painter’s frame,
Christ in the doorway pointing, Matthew’s face

Spirit and form; to every soul its shell;
Sounds their instruments—flute, double bass,
Trumpet, each instrument its plush-lined case,

That summer I learned Biblical Hebrew
with Christian women heaving themselves
toward ministry one brick building at a time.

As a girl, that’s how you made it
to first base. You didn’t kiss,
you were kissed.

Morning walking is like a hospital room
The getting up and feeling sorry for sleep
Putting my fat body into a cab and going to the hospital

When I hear sweet songs I think of you
I don’t know why, but I do
When I hear sweet songs I think of you

I am sorry I let you down
I was writing this poem
In the middle of everything