You see them
If we dug a huge grave miles wide, miles deep
Hundreds of years growing on a steep hill, desolate, aging / despite scarce nourishment, they wait for history to recognize them.
Go to the Cyclops, to their metalworks, to buy your armaments—
The summer God was nine years oldHeaven's swamp cooler broke for good.
I once met a woman who— in a frenzy of wild praise and to fight the devil—ate glass.
Of course it's not what I expected.
Along the Volga River, Russia 1993
The sky is gorged with snow.
I keep track of the comings and goings of people.
Apples still taste like apples.
Your petitions—though they continue to bear
just the one signature—have been duly recorded.
St. Teresa Puts in a Skylight
Street Person, Portland, Maine: circa 1965