Dozens of swans and geese
launched on its tar-black surface.
Sixteen tiny jellyfish

Underneath the damask rose
The marriage lace is torn.
Lift up loblolly days to disclose

The notion of living entities in human shape, intelligent but not human: look upon it as an experiment conducted upon the stuff of being. Shall they be smaller than we? Bushier, perhaps? What impulses bring about these particular condensations? To what extent do the alien existences depend upon certain crystallizations of our own thought, perhaps upon our very words? Shall we postulate elves, speaking the word aloud so as to give life to a certain meaningful vibration?

Nothing happened here—nothing ever
happened in our city, and yet it was destroyed.
What could the innocent citizens have done?

That love of hospitality 
                                                 & the old Irish 
passion for food and drink            (good food, 

1.
There’s a sign near the waterfront
I think it’s advertising cheer:
says 400 years, virginia spirits. A swig.

A year ago last night, my dead crowd me
an even ceremony
of Jamestown, at the schooner

that brought those first here.
They think: long trip
did not yet know, not the longest part

You who have been to Venezuela, sailed
the Orinoco in a paddle-boat, 
the Lagoon of Maracaibo by canoe, 

From what facts you gave, or refrained from giving,
I have not quite been able to determine
whether a porch graces the girl’s aunt’s house

Stepping deftly to the jetty,
members of the boating party,
women in pearls, long skirts, cloche hats,

This could be Jeffrey Rosen’s car
or a poem about the night.

Only two can be riding in it.