Japanese Poems:

Between the bent boughs  
of the splayed sumac, the silver
owl rests his head

houses threw one square and its fellow down
to make a crossword shadow-quilt of town

The father of two silver medal figure skaters
said, “When they were eight and ten, I built a rink, twenty
by forty in the yard, without a fence. There was nothing

his coat is fire, and I, who dress
     my fear to talk it down, want to shelter

A thin gold catch like a bee’s stinger—
    but there are no bees in winter—
lost from a necklace of honey-colored beads,

Before, it was the wind
and the idea of disorder.
And now it is the sea in the kitchen;

It’s always the same:
the perfect vellum messages of sympathy from The Best
                          Magazines,
the snippets of bright paper scrawled “Sorry”—

Leo where are you now?
Playing at some two-bit carnival in Altoona?
Married to your fat pink lady from the Bowery?

Psst. This is just for you, whoever you are, and not for any of the others. I am so excited by the possibility that you will be the one to read this that I cannot contain myself any longer. 

A simple statement like “Void where prohibited”—
How shall I read it?
How shall I think it?