Franciscan Complex Poem by Brenda Hillman

Each day the job gets up
And rubs its eyes

We are going to live on in dry amazement

Workers push the granite bed under the avenue

Bed of the married
The re- the pre-married

Making a form as forms become infinite

The scrapings scraping

Graywhacke chert

People wait for their bumpy little pizzas
Theories of theories in gravity voices

Melpomene goddess of tragedy bathes

Mostly the bride never the bridesmaid

Angel food in whole foods

Consider Tanguy whose lunar responses to childhood
Made everything a horizon

Those walking upside down don't know what to think

The finch engineering itself to deep spring

Or you life tired of being cured

How many layers
Of giving up are there

One of it

Two of everything in the arc you save