Low-hanging clouds, pond-mesmerized,
Whittle slim-stemmed flagons from their subtle waves!

North of a bottle cap lay Samarqand
With pocketknives we divvied up the spoils.

The luscious reddening gold of the emir’s coin
Buys my encomia. I haggle in magnificence,
Or then I elbow-dust his aureole.

The camshafts of heaven will outlive the axle trees.

I’ve seen the candles you carried
going out, one by one,
in the darkness of deep woods.

Open yourself up: today
that's no different than opening
a refrigerator door: large chunks

At dawn, from the bedroom window: the elm tree’s shadow
white with frost. Brief, strange sight; when I returned
with coffee for my wife, the lawn was green again.

Where each drop of blood
struck: lips in the dirt.

the bird falls, but
not killed by the copper bead,
only wounded and fluttering;

He’s not what you expected
As you might have expected.