From the Settlement sequence

She described her injuries
with her hands.

It was nothing, a little push,
a slip of the tongue.

She sang ascending, held
her breath descending.

Love — an empty bottle
and a half-drunk glass.

A mirror tilted to the ceiling.
A scattering of hairpins.

*

We have no seasons,
only tides.

Most people die of drowning or
are missing, presumed drowned.

Neither the same, nor opposite —
somehow perverse —

Like studying your husband
in a mirror.

We are living out of boxes,
re-ordering what we've lost.

*

He couldn't bear her hands
on the piano. Too much soil!

Root vegetables perplex her
with their propagation.

What did a body mean
with so much hair?

Meanwhile she reads by ear
the songs that do not issue from him.

Her fingers plough the keyboard
looking for the key.

*

What are you missing? Only men
laughing at their own jokes.

She loses herself in the chair
by the kitchen fire.

She dreams of a teapot with an upside-down
spout, and is thrilled when it pours.

The station cat is a politician, all but
smoking cigars with his constituents.

Night surrounds her like mint cake.
She feels its grit in her teeth.

*

No stepping stones, but
rocks in a river.

A storm of summer insects,
lightning birds.

She says the things that
someone ought to say.

The water's arguments run
for and against.

The cold is shocking
but she keeps her feet.