But he couldn’t drench the black.
So, he painted what he owed it

The dust of the stable
still on me,
I sidled on up

I feel free to kiss your eyelids.
                  I remember

My father naked in the photo, young
again, crouched among rocks and water. It's an island,
a time so long ago he is thin,

The one who held her hair up off her neck
and asked me to unclasp her dress

I am exhumed on the express
Out of the aftermath of five,
And though I starve on consciousness

The sun hangs on the blistered rock,
The Jew hangs in the sun;
The clamorers are done

The knots tied by a river
become lost ends as the tangles
and meanders separate, cut off

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