BUT GODS KNOW

but gods know
when you bared your forearm
and bastions fell
an architect began to dream
a man-high tower.

THE COMMUNE AT THE END OF THE SELF

... which was so resilient an hour ago,
which insinuated itself into my voids
and constructed there,
of the nothing,
houses-for-grandchildren
and wooden-legged bunnies close-held
to the chest

... which made of the silences
between our words
something lighter than air,
than having to be.

NOBLE LATE HARVEST

the vine is stripped, the summer's sugars rot
in well-lit sheds: jan boland throws the latch.
sad mothers, where their dull-eyed children squat
in private, fumble with the autumn match.

RUE GIT-LE-COEUR

his hard opinion finds himself amended
(he was no saint for sure whose bowel
has been evacuated here). thus ended
this his quest, his faithlessness defended,
he trades his english beef for free french fowl.