190
With these clever sketches you
Come around you speak
To virtue with only a glance
Of a reminded tongue
Uttered words from a grand, headless poet.
You bring with you the loneliest correspondence
Written in a hand recalling the promise of virtue
The wild land shines through you
Your face is that of a hatless angel,
Thanks to a finger, a relic wrapped in paper
torn from stolen books
taken while the librarian experiments
with a rumor of sleep.
With these clever sketches you
Come around you speak
To virtue with only a glance
Of a reminded tongue
Uttered words from a grand, headless poet.
You bring with you the loneliest correspondence
Written in a hand recalling the promise of virtue
The wild land shines through you
Your face is that of a hatless angel,
Thanks to a finger, a relic wrapped in paper
torn from stolen books
taken while the librarian experiments
with a rumor of sleep.
191
In heaven’s air there
Is no question of a shadow.
The unforgiven are killed after
Privately pleading over a name for light.
This discreet act is followed by the scattering
Of their empty bodies, strewn like fallen leaves in autumn sun.
They have no thoughts, these narrow wives
Hiding in the noise of possibility
they embalm their voices in stolen sweetness
then go to live among the trees.
I thought I heard Achilles say
That he believed in other birds
And guilty gods
And other questions such as these.
In heaven’s air there
Is no question of a shadow.
The unforgiven are killed after
Privately pleading over a name for light.
This discreet act is followed by the scattering
Of their empty bodies, strewn like fallen leaves in autumn sun.
They have no thoughts, these narrow wives
Hiding in the noise of possibility
they embalm their voices in stolen sweetness
then go to live among the trees.
I thought I heard Achilles say
That he believed in other birds
And guilty gods
And other questions such as these.
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