50. When your refrigerator breaks,
51. It’s good to have a job

in the kitchen after cutting
she tapes muslin to the paneglass
sliding door with the northern exposure

      As the storm moved in, you marked the night
And later the night marked you. A biblical clap woke
      The house to a spray of sheetrock: a powdered sprite
Sprung off the nailheads. Air flavored with ozone.
                                On the ceiling in the hallway, a halo
                                   Grew orange around a fixture, aglow—
                                And Dad on the phone

      Young gray cat puddled under the boxwood,
Only the eyes alert. Appressed to dirt. That hiss
      The hiss of the grasses hissing What should
What should. Blank road shimmers. On days like this,
                                My mind, you hardly
                                   Seem to be.
                                On days like these.

you’re home. eating lentils. talking to your
loved one. you’re abroad. eating lentils. talking to
your loved one. you’re not yourself. you’ve been stolen.
you’re talking to your lentils. you’re not a knife, not cotton.

don’t read this text who knows what
it will open or close in you so read what
until now for so many years you read that

between brownstones
where yearning
confesses its nature

Once upon a time I loved your rectum
as well as your ear, your skin took on
the majesty of feather when you spread

No one said the spasm of battle would last forever. Nor asked: Is there a violence sadder than the word island? Said: you have found a ruse and will reinvent it forever. Swords will continue to cams from sheaths, the crest will lodge the fiery moon and from now on a tangled mass of sails will signify exalted impatience, not the traditional annoyance of fear.

I write suicide notes in bed late at night
So they’ll know when I’m dead
That I was not insane, or worse, unkind.