I come among the fallen,
loving for advantage.
A cook hunts
a constant heart.
Lice haunt my coat,
me against me.
What is a kiss?
A pair of silk stockings.
A light blue supper.
A pleasant walk.
A fine pain.
The king’s coming.
A good foundation for Latin.
The absence of I.
A lute done in gold, this din
everything out
of order was pleased with:
my discovered love.
We lie still, she on me—effigies
making a great whispering,
satisfied and soon hushed.
Vice-tested, we sup
in the master bed.
Now the days begin to shorten
and when the candle is going out
the smoke descends
like a mind turned quiet
and we hear love take leave
without speaking…
a hard turn in
the garden
of love
making a hole
to look into
and the dirt
when my house is
pulled down
the night I see
This morning paper
is raw theater—
love in a maze
of strange straits.
A peace made
upon good terms
is news.
Each of us lives
but is ashamed to be,
resolving to see
pleasure fall.
Alone, he is a castle keep,
still with fear:
will love find him
in a lie, saying
that it was the same outside
as with a lock and a state…
Where we keep time,
we are not ready.
Where we love, we exceed,
we eat…
I hear the first words die
with a strange turn
into thin ear.
The common years we were merry in
go cold—prayers
to be mulled.
Valentine’s Day—
formerly held hands count money
by a hard bed
“Tell me, stranger,
what love should be called.”
The stranger preached the whole book
then went into court.
A drum came by, beating
a strange manner of beat—
now and then a single stroke.
I wondered at what I saw
but did not speak.