So temper me and go and let me li e.
Let abse nce knoc k aga inst itse lf and rest.
N owhe re left, no thin g he re:
no t the copper ill m y hair, th e sca r alo ng m y j aw,
no thing in th e plall l's of Ill y fo rehead.
Let th e inqui siti o n of m y brows repea t
itself for days unallswered.
My ges tures have come about
thro ugh time and mi ght as well revert.
N othin g in the pa lms of m y han ds.
Almos t eve ry tree is bare, m y synapses subve rted,
th en everywh ere a palsy takin g ho ld .
Th e g ift, of whi ch I alll afi-a id ,
wa kes me in th e ni ght aga ill .
KARL KIRCHWEY
Juno 's Song
I.
Today in th e ga rd en ,
a peacock spread hi s ta il ,
spr un g rake of w halebo ne
co rse t-s tays, ba ldill g scr ibble
of lap is lazu li .
Across th e granite curb,
prepos tero us bea uty
bega n o nce Ill o re to abso rb
itself in itse lf,
swayed by and ho isted
its ten t above
your slIl all go ld head,
