In the garden. Sun
on the river
flashing past. I

are all we have. So count them as they pass. They pass 
too quickly 
out of breath. Don’t dwell on the grave which yawns for  

twas the night before Columbus Day, ’70
and the humidity gave a semblance
of warmth to a day not unchilly, even somewhat clammy.

Dear Kenward,
                              What a pearl
of a letter knife. It’s just

We were wise to say.
Goodbye, cheap lamps

The search for health and pleasure
leads to no fairer clime

We cannot fight on this glue
give us the bread we are used to

There is a hornet in the room
and one of us will have to go

I love crystal fringe on a dance frock
and the ripple of light as you pass
in a plain little chemisette bodice

A garnering squirrel makes a frantic chatter at a posse of cats
that sit and stare while their coats thicken