Ash-home. Sack of delicious apples.
Roof of mouth is keen but quiet now.
How is it I did not know the swath
Of you, rare, more rare.
Whole family decimated
As if in war.
Old wheat, color of ransack or curlew,
Jews wandering, coppering, each
In their croft. The pond, iced-over now,
Thinner yet for skating. Inside, a man
In his smoking jacket, smoking,
Withholding. Silvering of hair, most
Exigent of needs. In a vase, the red dust
Of gillyflowers aslant by the bed.
Thou shalt not be dead.
Last hour
Loving was the first one,
Cruciate as the wings of a dragonfly, at rest.