There were maggots in the cinders and utmost kindness too
A mere infant lay at the head of our metallurgical times
Supine we coupled the property tax to the reefed mainsail filling with wind
And still the crow-bitten wailed among the economic indicators

Indwell    therefore    among the prosthetics    among the reforested
Even as the countdown is counting down
a soft hand travels up the row of small white buttons
View this as an anagram of our life together between the headstones

No shawl will keep the self-willed warm
And footsteps crossing the polished marble floor
may yet be bordered by peonies or their echo
You can breath a word of this but not a syllable

To covet is more powerful than a breach of protocol
a negotiated settlement less potent than to hold in the palm of one’s hand
If we lie in the anther cup of the multiplicand    unquoted
it won’t be because we’ve planned all our lives for it