VET

 

 

Don’t imagine

the war is over

 

just because

you’ve come home.

 

Just because

your wounds

have been wrapped,

 

just because

there were crowds

in the streets

 

and a few

remembered.

 

The battle goes on

 

moon and memory

light and cloud

 

this morsel

this defecation

 

and having to

decide like a hawk.

 

No one can save you

from living.

 

Love is a shoal

in the river.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The front line

is today,

 

peace ringing

 

somewhere

in the blood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MOSCOW

 

For Akhmatova

 

 

I have never been there.

But that doesn’t

stop me

from writing.

 

The unmarked streets,

weathered faces,

new gilt scabbarding

on rebuilt churches,

 

history without eyes

one can greet

 

or dance

alone in the dark.

 

Nowhere seems to be

everywhere

 

as I walk

to the center

 

where the towers

gather like

cruel saints in prayer.

 

The souls

who suffered here

sing like swallows still.

 

I can hardly

stand

 

to inherit

this dream.

 

 

 

 

 

ONE LEG

 

 

Now I see

why you didn’t want

to be understood.

 

The flamingo

on the front lawn

doesn’t mean anything—

 

it is itself

a bright color

a promise of flight

a denizen

 

of the eye

the breath

and the mind.

 

I didn’t expect you

to stay.

 

I don’t even

expect you to turn

 

and cast

your wing

over the air

 

as a parting

word.

 

Beauty is power

in the sun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BONES DOWN UNDER

 

 

This is a hole

I can crawl into.

 

Pull the dirt over,

pretend it’s a coffin,

 

breathe slowly

and shine inwardly

in the dark.

 

No one can find

what is missing.

 

One body is

an archaeologist’s

dream,

 

fingers and toes

locked in song.

 

Try seeing

without any eyes.

 

 

 

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