Pamela Alexander
		Hard Light In a blizzard of heat I admire insensible buildings: sunlight is hard and they are harder. I cannot believe we will see each other again. Swallows score the air. Inside, in louvered light, it is eleven--the clock sings electronically. On its face, in place of numbers, pictures. Hour of dove, hour of mockingbird. Old buildings will be torn down and the new buildings will look like each other. Two or three species of bird will perch in four kinds of tree. Already I do not care where I am. I see where you have gone, leaving no way to follow. Nor can I go back to the rafts of trillium afloat in spring woods, to the field where woodcock courted, high, in spiralled falls, to your hand turning a frond to find the rows of spores. We found a nest with eggs once in the pocket of a scarecrow. Shall I look for you there? I would empty the pockets of the wind. The clock is broken. It points to one bird and a different bird sings. For us it is no time.
		South of Mae West Oh boy aubade, a wide one, me in Ohio you in Tucson. Met you in the desert with a radio in your pack, cacti let you by and then bit me; my socks still bristle botanically. I'm snagged by your orange anorak and scree gaiters, obsessed by your fanny pack and your fanny, dammit. You were over my head, your heels rising on thermals, must've been, no footholds I could see. Saw ammo on the dash but when I asked if you were packing you said A highly improper question. I'm feeling highly improper. Antenna standing up and quivering, is that de rigueur? Boy oh baby, it's the morning of something. Haven't been inside your truck or trailer, you haven't been inside my--was that a hoodoo in your pocket or were you just glad to see me? You speak good German which means you like to save all your verbs for dessert. Not me, I like 'em everywhere and active. I like your syntax, Sylvester all over. You ran up rocks like a cat burglar, well burgle me. My alarm's disarmed.