Coming to Sumer and the tamarisks on the river
I Ezra with unsettling love
rifled the mud and wattle huts
for recent mournings
with gold leaves
and lapis lazuli beads
in the neat braids loosening from the skull
Looking through the wattles to the sun
I said
It has rained some here in this place
unless snow falls heavily in the hills
to do this
The floor was smooth with silt
and river weeds hanging gray
on the bent reeds spoke saying
Everything is even here as you can see
Firing the huts
I abandoned the unprofitable poor
unequal even in the bone
to disrespect
and casual with certainty
watched an eagle wing as I went
to king and priest