The Carrying: Poems

Would I be more patient with a child? Would I love the smallness

of a life more than the gone-ness of the mind? Yes.

AFTER THE FIRE

THE CONTRACT SAYS: WE’D LIKE THE CONVERSATION TO BE BILINGUAL

A NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM

SUNDOWN & ALL THE DAMAGE DONE

They call the beetle’s conspicuous

bioluminescence “a cold light,” but why then

do I still feel so much fire?

NOTES ON THE BELOW

Tell me what it is to be the thing rooted in shadow.

To be the thing not touched by light (no, that’s not it)—

to not even need the light? I envy; I envy that.

I am at the mouth of the cave. I am willing to crawl.

What’s it like to be always night? No moon, but a few lit-up

circles at your many openings. Endless dark, still time

must enter you.