down the anchor
let fall my grief
a poor man glad to have
a lobster with
my wife
last night the white
kiss of winter
an owl in two or three places
two or three idle people
and you bigger than fear
like a bonfire in the street
we loved in the fewest words
fickly
demandable
loath to speak with one mouth
red and full of evening
where I carried a cross like a prize
where I bled ink and coffee
where it all evened out
with war for discourse
I spoke but did not see
but at night in the garden
I thought of you
will the missing kiss
grow on his lip
like a difficult word
is love is a hard game to play
or an inconvenience
on the way to sleep
or to my mind
a great delirium
between joy and concern
We were alone
in the darkness
on the top deck
of the ferry
coming back
from Shikoku,
the two
of us wrapped
in a single windbreaker,
me thinking
about the ex-governor
who had sailed
a thousand
years before
into this same
headwind,
green ink at the office
life should not be less
than half hope
deer in the garden
a letter to my wife
telling her my mind
head combed by my girl
to whom I am an ape
I rain down wool
Body
of work
you make my heart race
body of evidence
weighed
wanting
body of knowledge
errata
body of the report
here comes
the red pen
governing body
hold me
body of water
hold me
up
having left my talk
I hear you who I am
newly present to
the plain life
of your heart is to me
as large as the weather
where we go together
to bed and so
to sleep
day of new vows
all the rough hill sang
her mouth pretty as night
the rose I lock my mouth to
saying her fill