This is the 31st time I’ve been here,
he says, leaning on a walker.
Even though he’s sitting next to me

The world is not aweather
for that moment. My brother
is painting a Sunday picture

They always said it was horrible,       the way the man
who looked like my father died.          Sometimes, it was what
                                                                                                        appeared

I would like to tell you
that I went easily
or that, hand over hand,

The cliffs on this heart-
land lake terrorize me.
Eroding and standing

Is belief, like love, first a touch, a feeling,
an inclination toward rightness?
But I have known—known—myself right so

I suppose I ought to consider the question rhetorical,
or know it simply means, I'd like to know what you've seen.

As a matter of fact, I've been the spider crawling beneath
your sheets, the worm searching your warmth as you sleep,

Meeting his mouth made it so I had house again.
I called him garden and drew him so, grew

         Their flat bodies I held with grave disrespect;
            perhaps this is why I sought them.

How do you find yourself in literature?
All blue-eyed, drinking from green bottles.