It is always the same:
she is standing over me
...
Still sleepwalking through her life,
I wrap her up
and we go through the snow that fell all night
...
The slow-grained slide to embed the blade
of the key is a sheathing,
a gliding on graphite, pushing inside
to find the ribs of the lock.
...
after Baudelaire
The men would sometimes try to catch one,
throwing a looped wire at the great white cross
that tracked their every turn, gliding over their deep
...
Their long stares mark them apart; eyes gone
to sea-colors: gray, foam-flecked
and black in the undertow, blue
...
For Andrew O'Hagan
Three moons in the sky
the night they found him
drowned in Sawtan's Bog;
...
What am I to think now,
the white scut
of her bottom
disappearing
down the half-flight
...
Now the night has fallen, Edinburgh comes alight
as if each building's shell
has a fire inside that burned. The follies
- lit exhibits - stand here on the hill
...