On the sill
the blown-out candle

Saturday. Early afternoon. High
Spring light through new green,
                                                    a language, it seems, I have forgotten,

I have been allowed to go on living in this
room. I am not asked to explain my presence
anywhere.

One after another the angel of history
Women: rural, 9, 1536, 1547, 1550, the angel of history
1551—52, 1559; in business, 147; and the angel of history

Inaudible consonant inaudible vowel
The word continues to fall
                                      in splendor around us

Outside the leaves are quiet
as their shadows. Hidden
in the leaves a bird is waiting

One evening beside the river, only its name. Only one river, the Ohio, that is the loneliest river in the world.

Brooming the streets, sick drunk he hated life.
Winter after winter, his whining wife
Forgave him about midnight, and then she prayed,

I can still hear her.
She hobbles downstairs to the kitchen.
She is swearing at the dishes.