The radio blares "Dialogue of Souls,"
and the woman who hated clouds
watches the sky.
...
Look here, Marcus Aurelius, we've come to see
your temple, deluded the guards, crawled through a hole
in the fence. Why your descendent, my guide and friend
...
Evening coffee, and my mother salts
her evening broth—not equanimity,
but the nick of her wrist—
...