But suppose, Irina, you find yourself asking:
What is the word for window?
And a voice, your own or someone else's, replies

Glass breaking and then laughter
under the open window—
a rabble of carousers

That far rise drifting in its first mute buds
Brightens and freezes through binoculars,
Shadeless grain of the giver. As if grown

I watched Preacher Benson plowing his back garden with a mule
to the sprung clacking of the screen door,
and it’ll sound that way when the century turns.

As a child I would awaken,
midsummer, cicadas buzzing
their alarm from oak trees whose