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early in the morning
when it was dark
the electric wires

cut weird black shapes
across the sky

the little silver fox
came to our lawn

his ears kept swiveling

he looked away into the trees

little fox
with silver ears
I watched you

so long I forgot
the spider god

was angry
I had crushed
its child

under a box of expensive water

last October a wire fell

and everything burned

so this year from the bare hills
down the foxes came
with silver ears

I know those crows
will eat

my stupid hopeful sunflowers
their big green leaves

in rare pure sorrow

plunge up
toward their mother

in the night
whatever they dream
is part of some solution

people of the enclave
do more than listen
to the tired ones

straggling up the hill
to the police station
chanting the names

listen to the cave

off in the distance
say to the hammers:

when I am sleeping
I am working
on understanding

what we must do


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is what I had written in my sleep

with that hand that belongs to no one

I wish I could remember that world

it probably had some birds in it

alien punctuation marks

clarifying the sky

here in this one

we stare and stare

a blank grey that is basically

a color that isn’t even one

bouncing off the leaves in the yard

making everything lunar

my waking hand doesn’t believe

my dream hand

it says death can be gentle

I’m out of time to argue

it’s easier just to stay inside

the idea that I get to choose

which one of us will go first

and which one will stay

here to take care of the little leaf

that fell into our house and now hides

from the darkness of the actual

from the wind’s eternal certainty


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I’m reading your diary
is a weird thing to say
even to someone dead
who lived in Argentina
furious at Europe
for all its stupid museums
full of poor people crying
for the amusement of strangers
I can vacuum all day
and the book will be waiting
open all the wrong doors
and your voice will be there
saying poets are enemies
of anything real
they think flowers love them
and every pastry
deserves an elegy
I took a train to Poland
and breathed in
so much black smoke
near to the odd rust colored
monument to your birth
made of local stone
the train hurtled through
vast forests whose names
sound like monsters
I took so many notes
about vital matters
of the heart and mind
it’s a kind of discipline
not to remember
who I was in the past
I hoard all my energy
for future atoning
on your birthday
to honor you
I will pull down my trousers
with total disrespect
and pee on a very old tree

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