The Brooklyn Rail

1

He stood there
with his hands hidden
in thick dark clouds.

I can remember you
without the pestle
& mortar.

You asked about
a rough weather's
feedback /

Form delights
& betrays us /

No retreat
from creatureliness
& its beauty & torment /

He stood there
tides linked us
to the illumination
of death /

2

But of course you're
used to the interplay
of scent & wreck.

In some cases
the nightfall was meant
to be educational.

Can privacy ever forgive isolation?

Starapple, valley.

As untranslatable as skirts
flying up to heaven.

You were ready to fire-walk.
You never really left.