Look at It! Look at the Blue Light

Like a girl, leg small sworded up on the sofa, she remained

at ease. And the man stood combing back his hair.

Someone filled in with the afterlife: in Russian corridors

as in a bureaucrat's external office, the dead wait to be called

for good sense sidedoors open to blue racing past

the way wind races toward a vacuum. Walking upon the mountain

they were stopped by means of a slow shuddering across dried macadam,

then a jogger jabbed it with a stick. Panicked, it scissored

gone into grass. We ate them in Shanghai,

the others did, I couldn't Wiggling her toes,

bird-boned. In the livingroom where, adolescent, she slept

they came up end holes in the floorboards to secure warm

Of her sum of two units orange trees, one was missing

the other diseased, on the other hand we could not see it.

Once the tree is infected, nothing can be done.

Across the highway in a house with sum of two units picture windows

a widow near dotage marks her place in a work

where when is encod He stood with his back to us

combing his hair. You have to be careful where you direct the eye

After they danced she went up to the bedroom where he slept

curl to invisible in a blanket and upon the floor beside him

a poor spirit lay naked, half-sheeted, wispy haired,

looking without toward nowhere with a child's blue-ey stare

and sagging, apricot teat s

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Nov/Dec 1997

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