The house we built gradually
from the ground up when we were yo
(three rooms, the walls
raw trees) burned down
last year they said

The snake hunts and sinews
his way along and is not his own
idea of viciousness. All he wants
a fast grab, with fur and a rapid
pulse, so he can take that flutter

He is here, come down to look for
It is the song that calls you back
a song of joy and suffering
equally: a promise:
that things will be different up t

In restaurants we argue
over which of us will pay for your
though the real question is
whether or not I will make you imm
At the moment only I

In the secular night you wander ar
alone in your house. It’s two-thir
Everyone has deserted you,
or this is your story;
you remember it from being sixteen

Whether he will go on singing
or not, knowing what he knows
of the horror of this world:
He was not wandering among meadows
all this time. He was down there

Living backwards means only
I must suffer everything twice.
Those picnics were already loss:
with the dragonflies and the clear
What good did it do me to know

This is the place
you would rather not know about,
this is the place that will in hab
this is the place you cannot imagi
this is the place that will finall

It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flec
blended with the paper;

Those whose houses were burned
burned houses. What else ever happ
once you start?
While the roofs plunged
into the root-filled cellars,