Ears to Hear

.




the dry oleander
humps to the eaves and
just past
the green corn
is not as tall as it will be.
it won’t
mask the white face from you
that,
look through the window,
tilts back and away against
the body of the damp corn.
look for
a curve of lips in the silk
or two pale mitts on the haft,
or another white face
with a puddle of blue wool
where the stalk meets the earth.






.

Sleeper

you would have despised november
this year,
it was so cold,
and clotted the blue oaks
on the edge of the hill.
now december too
will end—-
frigid dream of dark—-
without ever having woken
your small brown body
and the two hands hanging
off the edge of the bed
like jerky.

Adam

all the while

I hear the nakedness of the first man

his teeth against the flesh

and the snake against his leg,

his hands that have been

as many places and been there too

for a thousand years or however long.

I’ve yet to discover if I can make a mistake

differently.