I am Supergirl. I throw back my cape
so that you may view the bathing suit within.
It’s all very well for you,
straight as a canoe or arrow,
This daughterless night is deepening.
The tinkle of laughter awaits
and unlistened-to interruptions
for someone who is always thinking.
From time to time the dead come
for their allotted meeting like prisoners,
jostling, and sit on the bench to wait.
The hands of the carver
No beginning, this, but an end.
For the calendar the birds gather, harrow or net space,
1. Pathetic fallacy Tanka
Late October. A feast of sun.
In memoriam Tom Ravenette
In old age I comfort myself
with bits and pieces of food
Bushels of light from the electric maples
float in the underpass.
Night enters the cemetery like a spade.