On the banks of the beautiful Loire,
There was my birth and my cradle.
Two kinds of goods flow from that land:

Faithful mother tongue
I have been serving you.
Every night, I used to set before you little bowls of colors

Why am I so sad?
Often I have enjoyed the rain,
but for the last week

My friend stops his father
in the doorway, asks him
to show me the numbers burned

Red bones, golden bones,
reduced bones.
Bones spark. Gray shards

Should the gusts of wind come this way then tell them
There’s nothing here that they could take away with them
There’s nothing here that someone could look at and think:
If only this were ours, too

There is the building.
Beside it stands a column

that will cure restlessness.

having lectured on gut health for industry leaders,
having liked the energy I brought to the role,
having fashioned a lean-to for my taxes

Who am I who speaks to you?

Though that’s not it exactly. Try this. What behind the eyes had looked out so central, so

Unwound from reason on a rope,
All rules of nature foiling,
Sinks the light-armed bathyscope.