All my life I’ve had goals to go after, goals
in a molten distance. And just the way snows
in the distance, dense and white among groves

I try to keep the promises I make
—for each one broken breaks the world—and seem
inhuman: no crack, no fissure, no mistake.

I love desire, the state of want and thought
of how to get; building a kingdom in a soul
requires desire. I love the things I’ve sought—

Because you are the Visiting Distinguished, and because our whole city is celebrating your illustrious Treatise On Weeping, I am giving a party in your honor and discussing with you some prominent instances of weeping I myself have observed in men’s rooms, offices, train stations, etc. My other guests are waiting to join the discussion; let them wait.

It is true, it is true
Sing the whippoorwills slightly off-key
In the small city park at night.

“Nebraska and Oklahoma have the longest contiguous border
Of any two states,” you announce.
Your hair stands up in corkscrews

I stare out the plate glass window
At sky over the Boston Common
Where seagulls coast past

The face is featureless, 
As though bound in tight gauze, 
And therefore presents a mien 

This is not the Roman Campagna.
Arcadian shepherds are absent.
The myths here are Icelandic sagas

Three powerful people
seized me, held me at gunpoint,
and demanded answers. They didn’t want money.