There is a bed / that is far away

Here we are at last, meeting face-to-face like two heroes of opposing armies, looking each other in the eye, poised to shake hands. Do you trust me? Do I trust you? No, trust died last century, along with truth, so we’ll have to think of something else to shake on.

Such jazzy arrhythmia, the white storks’
Plosive and gorgeous leave-takings suggest
Oracular utterance where the blurred

Wasn’t the printing press itself a kind of               
omen? Now it is clearer with reprinting:               
   the pocket Aquinas versus Lust

In the middle of making love, he coiled
a handful of my hair around his fist and wrenched
my head up off the bed, cocked it to force
my gaze down to where his body entered.

I am named in my mother’s trust 
but no one knows how to find her land. 

Bounded to the north by the Southern Pacific Railroad, 
east by the heirs of Dugas, Robichaux,
west by a gravel road.

How much of this do I own? 

Sir Thomas, stark green until he crept acurl
into the bed of marriage, put ripeness on
in the soft white embraces of a girl,

I

He said goodbye for the last time in a cafe in
Saint-Paul-de-Vence, over a glass of Chablis.
She lingered over cheese and fruit before requesting

                        O tree my mother
Your trunk is old.    Green and deep lives your leafy branch
          And each green leaf winks its eye

Relax,
            stand at attention, and.
         Purple snake stands out on