There are moments so flooded with tenderness
every wall around our heart collapses
from the beauty of it
Driving home, I see all of them
By the highway, pecking at
Whatever is splayed out and torn
Run ahead again,
I’ll catch up with you later.
Last week I took a shovel from a prepared heap,
scooped earth easily, turned, threw it
onto your coffin, plain pine.
Oh, beautiful death from the sky!
Please, do not strike me
Or my dark tree.
In this Fellini-esque comedy, a psychic fishmonger foresees Amadeo’s death, so his fellow villagers rally to give him the best final seven days for which one could ask.
My desire is only this—to die someplace the earth made beautiful all on its own, the way a first-grader makes the morning glory out of construction paper and Elmer’s glue, … Continue reading
O world of lips, O world of laughter,
Where hope is fleet and thought flies after,
Of lights in the clear night, of cries
That drift along the wave and rise