The
first veil falls much faster than the last.
Sometimes
the threshold is enough.
Sometimes
I want to make my home on the stone.
On
the lee side of the stone, past the pillars,
things
become too large for measure.
I
live in Georgia now and the cicadas
mark
the hours in the evening.
I
never see them,
I
only hear them calling.
Each evening, you hand me a bouquet
Each evening, you hand me a bouquet
of
gilded pine branches caught in the airy
places
between the light and the ground.
I accept.
I accept.