OUR HOME
As the archers pointed to the sky, arrows leapt into the air like greyhounds from their boxes
a great long unfastening
over the silence gripping soft eye sockets with steel forceps
pulling the seahorse
out of its stall and
into the burn of day,
over the bubbling juices of roasted meats, the plump orange leaf bags, a crèche of baby penguins clustered
together on the sidewalk,
ode,
wife, mother,
lover, governess, black widow
a tornado, a hurricane named Jackie,
it must be brutal, eliminating,
but life giving, life affirming also.
Wrapped in our robes at the window, we can actually see it on the horizon
sometimes, this woman,
coming over the water,
you and me, the dogs pressed against our legs.
SAGITTARIUS
A maiden hoists Sagittarius
into the hunt
stars crawling all over him like spiderlings hatching, ravaging the eloquent
body of
a father
who has died to feed an ogre in his children—
the agony
when mirrors become shadows in the grass
and comets carrying buckets of water in their mouths
pass
eyes sailing at half-masts:
what better thing to use than a lover as the canvas for rage.
JANUARY
Landlocked in desire,
the fixing to bloom beyond just afterglows—
jaws swinging moods, nebulous places:
all that is left is January
an anguish whose sunsets
bleed against the sky like
a canopy of giant red apes
making their nests for the night in
distant treetops.
work to a calm 
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