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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