(new year’s occasional, 2010)
hush, she says; some days words aren’t needed.
enormity can wait: rhinoceri, rennet and rime
please, my mind, no questions today; just let me relax.
only the sky is gray: what’s pithy
is what’s placid.
upstairs, the woman with three hundred-something hands
knits caps she fills with clever things –
forceps, and foxes, for example;
she does this daily; alas, the questions cumulate,
insist on light and air and asking, and children
in thinking caps full of surprises.
* * *