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of the distant wood:
what an angle
you make with each other as
you lie there in contemplation.
XIII.
Work hard all your young days
and they'll find you too, some morning
staring up under
your chiffonier at its warped
bass-wood bottom and your soul—
out!
—among the little sparrows
behind the shutter.
XIV.
—and the flapping flags are at
half mast for the dead admiral.
XV.
All this—
was for you, old woman.
I wanted to write a poem
that you would understand.
For what good is it to me
if you can't understand it?
But you got to try hard—
But—
Well, you know how
the young girls run giggling
[66]
