The house moving slowlyThis morning. Photos on the walls -Suddenly dissatisfied.
The chosen language and cadence of the work hefts off the usual pomp of poetry, without leaving any of the poetics behind.
Until it was stenciled by snow at midnight,
I hadn’t noticed the statue on Washington street.
Oh, look. A June bug is trapped
in the screen door. Buzz saw scent.
Plastic and old dust. In the yard
a laid-back mourning dove coos.
I saw her room for the first time through a blistering hangover.
She was not in bed. Somewhere I heard a tea kettle.