Each’s Cot An Altar Then

Susan Wheeler

… from the service of self

alone …

   grasses in low wind high sun

   (streamers of starlings)

  Joseph hauling the leg with his hands, corn stubble to stalk, horizon

                                      no house—

   Low animal flash in the riot of leg—

all such good works as thou hast prepared for us to walk in

This one request I make if it mean foot or glove

Repair, deplete the debt as I am out of love

   carrion                               calumny

and come into the field of blade poplars glinting,

leg pulled like a cart on the mule of the man

grasshopper of cropduster sprawled in the sun

desperate pastor all yield                    green pan

      Limb lost? Likely.

        Undone? Likely.

Let us grant it is not amiss

who bears the Count Chocula shipment up

who razors the retractable in the joint

who sings the bass of Anthony

who cries mercy in the placid field,

far now to go.

to reel the streets at noon—

so great weight in his lightness—

So. Bike at door.

On it. Avenue

of the Americas                       (against traffic)

a stream.

The

spareribs hot against

his knees.

                    fiduciary re

                    no sib

                    ability              re-

                    spond dis

                    Eisenhower, Eisenhower

sty

pend

sur

plus one is

                    x, solve for,                 solve

vent

A kind of Mamie-dress, that’s right, with the bodice—

no—you’d need darts here first. But that kind

of print—

                         kind of

a clear light above Joseph and his leg and the dry dry stalks and the

                                      clatter he makes

seek a proper return for our labor