The End of the West Page 2

  It underwrites all our blessings, note for note, on its way up into the

  rafters

  I don’t have to explain

  Hand after

  hand

  I don’t have to be embarrassed

  *

  The black branches of the oaks glide above us like the shadows of koi

  Disappearing

  beneath leaves

  and mud

  What does God promise?

  It’s winter, so

  the orange and red bellies of the fish

  look like small fires

  Soon everything will ice over

  There won’t be

  any room, not

  anymore

  Little Prayer

  The swing sets

  covered in ice

  are perfect statues

  of moonlight

  Buckets of snow

  You can stand here all morning in darkness if you want to

  There are monsters

  hiding

  all over the neighborhood

  Maybe you are one

  *

  The snow comes down in feathered clumps, like someone pulling out

  their hair

  Quietly

  The street

  The parked cars

  The elms

  Listen

  don’t let any of my dead friends come back

  There they are

  Walking up the street

  dragged up the street

  by their hair

  by you

  *

  You think it’s going to hurt, and it does, only not in the way that you

  imagined

  Her hand there and then

  not there

  His

  hand there

  and then not

  there

  My little prayer:

  Take

  Take

  Take

  Me in a snow-white T-shirt and blue jeans

  and you

  in your

  Heavy Crown

  My Father Full of Light

  Tonight the moths are beating the shit out of themselves against the

  screen door

  It looks like smoke

  So does the light

  inside his rings, his

  wristwatch

  The blood swimming around inside his face

  in lightning blotches beneath his skin

  like the residue of beets

  on a cutting board

  also

  emitted light

  A blizzard of wings

  *

  He thinks God

  is going to clean

  everything up

  Hands made from Light and Feathers, moving us around, dusting us off

  Everything

  settling back into the warm

  colors of autumn

  instead of getting

  ground down

  into glass

  which, I get the feeling

  diamond after

  diamond

  is what’s really

  going to happen

  *

  I could have

  whatever I wanted

  once a year

  Whatever you want

  it’s on me

  Coconut cream pies rotated slowly behind bright windows like the cities of heaven

  The register sang

  Flies collected

  on our water glasses

  My father, for a moment, was full of light

  Men came and went

  I knew

  our waiter was the son

  of someone

  Late Meditation

  What are you going to do?

  Describe the light

  falling

  through the pitch pines

  again?

  Yesterday we put all our kids in the car, doused it with gasoline, and

  lit it on fire

  Their eyelids

  and toe-

  nails

  That was one day

  The snow geese migrating above us in the dark was another

  Wheeling

  The light

  is red

  and

  inextinguishable

  *

  Do you think His arms

  are going to make

  a cradle

  for your head

  so you can finally

  fall asleep?

  The yellow crocus just outside the front door is not a miracle of light

  But pretty close

  in its papery

  stillness

  The only color in the entire yard

  We are trying

  very hard

  to be alone

  *

  One way

  is to sit very still

  and count

  your breath

  Another way

  is to stare out the window

  until your mind

  disappears

  The smell of the pine needles smoldering in the woods behind the

  lake is enough to return

  your mind

  Needle by

  needle

  The doors were locked

  from inside

  Into the Earth

  The best time was the first time, on the floor of her living room

  people walking past the apartment outside

  talking loudly

  Almost naked

  on the carpet

  Finally!

  If you take me

  into the bedroom

  you know

  you could fuck me

  Streetlight beginning to pile up outside her windows, along the

  couch, pooling into her

  sunken hips

  White

  Cathedrals

  *

  Your face is like everyone’s

  face underground

  Tunneled

  Pretty acre

  after pretty acre

  You aren’t even here so I don’t know why I’m telling you this except

  I’m telling myself

  over and over again

  by myself

  You are not listening

  with pity

  *

  The photos I took of the tide pools get close to the sand, the wind

  my hangover

  this morning

  climbing over the rocks

  They get close

  but just fall short

  They are a nice description of something beautiful that doesn’t exist

  anymore

  No one I loved had died for almost two years

  Then Amy bled out

  in a bathtub

  Good Friday

  I think the light

  appearing, then

  disappearing

  across the trunk of the live oak

  is the boss of everything

  Not You

  Not Your hands tearing up the grass in the neighbor’s yard, fashioning

  little green crosses

  no one can fit on

  We can put them to our lips though

  and whistle

  *

  I don’t see You everywhere

  all night, and

  I have all night

  Fire ants walking the edge of a blade of grass in the moonlight

  We’ll want to keep our mouths

  away from that one

  A parade

  all night, and I have

  all night

  Cords of wood stacked all over the neighborhood

  Snakes asleep beneath the kindling

  Stars—

  Return, don’t

  return

  *

  The dogs bark

  at something that never arrives

  at my house

  Why is that?

  If You came back and it happened again

  we w
ould shave Your head

  and attach black wires

  to Your solar system

  We would turn the dial

  You would see Your mother

  Your childhood

  and small pockets

  of darkness behind

  Your eyes

  turn to lightning

  Someone would wipe You clean with a towel

  Someone

  would put You

  in the ground

  My Dead Friends Come Back

  If you want to

  come back, just you

  I say it’s fine

  From the flattened universe

  From His side

  of the bed

  Shave my head and put me in the ground with you surrounded by

  trillium

  Trillium or

  something else

  Shit and violets

  *

  If you want to

  come back, just you

  I say it’s fine

  From endless singing

  From the icy branches

  of evergreens

  I want to trade you sunlight for starlight, or star for star, the night sky

  disappearing for

  coffee in the morning

  What I want

  I want to fuck you again

  on the living-room

  floor

  *

  If you want to

  come back, just you

  I say it’s fine

  From your hijacked brain

  From your skeleton

  sparkling like change

  on a countertop

  Your life as light is just beginning in the cosmos, but you can come

  back if you want to

  What a terrible place this is

  Limping around

  not in each other’s arms

  not like light

  at all

  Ode

  When you cry like that you sound like meat being tenderized by

  hand

  Beaten, flipped and

  beaten again

  If I’m deathly quiet

  it’s because I want to hear

  the muscles flatten

  The sun pours in from the other shore

  and runs its fingertips

  over the shank

  Like a butcher in love!

  Here—you can wipe

  your hands

  on my apron

  *

  It’s not heaven

  it’s the early dark

  Everything fighting

  to be seen

  Hands and

  stars

  Sometimes the bed seems to be made entirely of skin

  Sheets of skin

  Onion and Egyptian

  my legs, your

  stomach

  Honey

  I can’t stop grinning

  I’m having so much fun

  trying to relax

  around your fist

  *

  It’s as if we’re both standing on the wilder shore of some immaculate

  kitchen, our towels folded neatly, into bleached-

  white columns

  I love your spine, chef

  Serrated

  Butterfly

  Bird’s Beak

  I love

  your technique

  Lifting the veins up carefully in the early light and then putting them

  back down again

  Lifting them up

  Putting them back

  Lifting them up

  *

  Do you think there’s a difference

  for the Lord

  between

  slow dancing in the kitchen at night, no music, your arms around my neck, and later

  my face

  in your ass?

  I think His home is covered in dark leaves

  cicada wings and

  promises

  a peaceful night

  a perfect death

  *

  Are you hungry?

  Do you want to get up?

  Do you want some coffee?

  I want to bow very low

  all the way down to the ground

  actually lie down

  my face pressed hard

  against the tiles

  my arms out, and bow

  to your fingers

  your parents who put you here

  your legs

  the backs of your knees

  your mouth

  your chin

  how you smell

  how you smell at night

  bow to your voice

  across the kitchen

  crooning

  Come here

  Come back

  I’m going to bend you

  over my knee

  We Did Not Make Ourselves

  We did not make ourselves is one thing

  I keep singing into my hands

  while falling

  asleep

  for just a second

  before I have to get up and turn on all the lights in the house, one

  after the other, like opening

  an Advent calendar

  My brain opening

  the chemical miracles in my brain

  switching on

  I can hear

  dogs barking

  some trees

  last stars

  You think you’ll be missed

  It won’t last long

  I promise

  *

  I’m not dead but I am

  standing very still

  in the backyard

  staring up at the maple

  thirty years ago

  a tiny kid waiting on the ground

  alone in heaven

  in the world

  in white sneakers

  I’m having a good time humming along to everything I can still

  remember back there

  How we’re born

  Made to look up at everything we didn’t make

  We didn’t

  make grass, mosquitoes

  or breast cancer

  We didn’t make yellow jackets

  or sunlight

  either

  *

  I didn’t make my brain

  but I’m helping

  to finish it

  Carefully stacking up everything I made next to everything I ruined

  in broad daylight in bright

  brainlight

  This morning I killed a fly

  and didn’t lie down

  next to the body

  as we’re supposed to

  We’re supposed to

  Soon I’m going to wake up

  Dogs

  Trees

  Stars

  There is only this world and this world

  What a relief

  created

  over and over

  Seeing Whales

  You can go blind, waiting

  Unbelievable quiet

  except for their

  soundings

  Moving the sea around

  Unbelievable quiet inside you, as they change

  the face of water

  The only other time I felt this still was watching Leif shoot up when

  we were twelve

  Sunlight all over his face

  breaking

  the surface of something

  I couldn’t see

  You can wait your

  whole life

  *

  The Himalayas are on the move, appearing and disappearing in the

  snow in the Himalayas