Our grand peregrinations through these temporary cities,
These pale window box poppies of the laughing class,
Drifting as if time came in the same long dollops as starlight,
Resemble an epic journey as a coffee bean resembles a llama’ s foot,
Though the kitchen table may be far from the desert
It’ s near in spirit, a yellow oasis before the wind
Starts its restless sweeping of white flower-dust across the lintel,
Marking the fine edge of things like children asleep
At the opera, piled up near the door, summer passing

A charm,
a dream of protection.
Gurgles hold the night light’ s glow.

A stream of clouds
misting the branching tubes.

Water, in fog, a tub, plug to
wire in the wall saying

Okay, it’ s okay all night.

* * *

After the steaming bodies swept
through the hungry streets of swollen cities;
after the vast pink spawning of family
poisoned the rivers and ravaged the prairies;
after the gamble of latex and
diaphragms and pills;
I invoked the white robes, gleaming blades
ready for blood, and, feeling the scourge
of Increase and Multiply, made
affirmation: Yes, deliver us from
complicity.

Even as the sun with purple-colour’ d face
Had ta’ en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek’ d Adonis tried him to the chase;
Hunting he lov’ d, but love he laugh’ d to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac’ d suitor ‘gins to woo him.