–The whole of the wideness of night is for you
People stroll in a park. Some assume lost
wolf-hungry looks besides the two lovers
and the swastika-necked swans. Your pecked-at thought,
that zeppelin, sinks into sleep with a hiss.
A pond embouchures a grassy patch.
A sidewalk laps against it, like the rabbit who sits
near the woodpeckered hickory tree and the flecks of aster.
In a red lamé-silk dress lined by a black collar,
a beautiful man waves at a woman. His sa-
tiny skin sets off through your mind’s wonder,
above the ruins of that flight machine,
like geese who fly in V’s through verdant thunder.
In your thoughts live the thoughts of men thinking
about you. That is what I believe. Let Pablo cry out
with colors about demolished cities. You cannot
help but write a poem to the queen of ghosts. The rest
might best pass forgotten, like chunks of ice
loosened from the Connecticut river’s crest
of thawed rims. On the current they waver flame-
like in their schools, opaque as jellyfish,
a fleshy sea’s silent, sweet flotsam.
