They're the cause of their own
good fortune, they believe, but the lie
is like the crime itself, with its excuses.
"Hello, friend," I am saying
on top of the hill. You are wearing
stockings and slippers and a few sweaters;
it's always so cozy in your kitchen.
Have the pipes finally choked?
The ceilings are leaking. The stairwell
and hallway are lined with cakepans;
there are puddles everywhere. A puddle of
light has formed beneath your door. Ah, good.
I want you to be there. Are you there?
Anne Bromley
BIRDS IN THE HAND
The character of this moment
is a young Japanese-American
seated in a bus station, his head down,
his fingers rubbing the bird
he has just made out of newspaper. The last letter
of the headline is on the tip of the left wing.
He learned the art of origami at 5
when the time was right tv know
that a perfect bird, dog, or butterfly
was a matter of tissue ... pale blue, yellow, green.
