Cartographic Memory

I think someone is dead No, no, not the daily dead and dying But someone who is close to me She cut me off once, saying I am muddy water I think of a postcard she wrote to me Open, to my office address, with tenderness...

To an old friend E. Eleven years of soft smooth skin Your hungry hands, Quiet, questioning, Waiting, tired Still a friend. Now this song Makes me Quiet, questioning, Wondering Why am I rooted in you? Are you my country...

Does it happen to you? Lateral movements digging deeper, seizing, arresting, creating heart attacks.

Early morning, rain lashing at the window. A body sleeping on the bed. A dream entered that body. An old woman in the dream.

Someone come bury me Don’t wait for me to die When poets are being buried, what of my death See my cut heart Feel its split aches Hear its wild echoes There, see it pushing its way Up through my throat, my eyes...