By silence he meant it's bad enough
To squander words on paper. Don't waste them.
Along with your breath, on air. By exile

In all honesty, saying this
As if reaching out to hold your hand
And attest to a truth, my tongue

At the bay's edge and day's end, we comb
the shore for beach glass, clouded grains
of clarity among the ground-down,
cast-off shells of other naked creatures

Nakedness isn't guilty,
But it's never unaware. At night
The white blossoms go on

I got off my plane in a strange country
And saw you standing in the airport
With a blind smile, your eyes like diamonds,

Knowing that Penn had dabbled, periodically,
in paints, noting the modest watercolor

Having a crush was how I existed —
how I spent recess; I wandered
dull fields gone brilliant

In the branches the light

                   so that the limbs

                            go out

I wished you awake for the bird song,
Such a sophisticated bird song at five in the morning,
Like a twelve bar blues, each chorus had a variation—

The cat’s alone
and that allows it
to invent itself