Robert Lietz

      Sweeping her own outdoors      -- because
the daylight's      soon enough --
Wren's    keeping clean      again      -- sweeping
at noon      -- with      pains      kids
schedule      mealtimes by     or break-times --
until the sidewalk cobbles bloom --
and the light    she finds      on the refrigerator
casings      -- in the rooms upstairs
above the cobbles     and the cheese shop --
on      last night's    cracked spine
/ the pages    ( opened flat )      she knows
she must come back to      -- catching
her eyes this afternoon      -- that
shy from mirrors and supper scraps
/ from      the swirl      she sips --
from      the      last      aired
taste      and      bottom
of her goblet.

      And here      ( in air )      -- among      the swaying
binaries      -- her    sister's
in touch    / in sympathy      -- with      Kurt
laid down      -- with      words
she had saved for Kurt      and      thoughts
on      public      cloning --
but      not      for this air-link now --
not      with      a      thought
so curved      -- and      nearer
to the heart      ( today )
than      headlines
ever were.

      So Kurt's wife's sweeping the cheese-shop bricks
straight to the tree-lawn      -- seeing
him      walking      ( straight )      -- and      leaving
( she thinks )      his cache      of bottles
safely      capped>>-- leaving    her lips      to curse
the      likes      of single malts
and ales      -- with what was a whisper once --
and      once      a steady hand --
to water the street      ( she thinks )      qualified
by      gazes      -- remembering
the bed they'd shared      -- when      choices
were Kurt's      / were      no one's
now       -- and       -- warming
the ice cubes      some      -- forking
this generous cut      -- when
the      cuts      she'd
dream      for      him
left      work-


      And since the kids won't have that piece      -- since
the evening's walk
and waters were exceptions      -- won't      share
these volumes now --
prefering      their own      grown sense

      of someone else's                      } -- she adds

      her own good edge to it.      And sees the daylight
redden      / fade --
its course      in      leaden words      -- and
all      that      dreaming
ever meant      -- sprawling      the way
light      does      -- across
the rugs    and      glass
of Kurt's wife's


      Tomorrow      ( she thinks )      the cheese
will have to wait      -- and
the mind      to wait      its comfort and surprising --
the hawk      of the mind      at play
above      a downstate      Nazi      household --
freed      from      the souvenirs --
from the laughter's ping      -- when      someone
mentions      trigger locks
and      range-training      -- from      the ways
the      women
were to sit themselves by night fires --
to the train-tranced rails      -- to
voices      that had no use
for the cheese goods
or      summer


      Now there's the sound again.. And      now
these      sounds
she hears      ascend      from a dry cellar --
no    wonder      -- with
what's come by      -- where she might find them
next      -- with
this      cellarful      of targets      -- equipped
as      they'll      be
for      all      the weekend sport
and      weekday

      The      afternoon      ( she knows )      is
way      too      short
to      redirect. And      these      who have come
shall      pass      -- be      gone
before      she's      advertised
a village yard-sale --
trucking      this      spooky gear      -- this
awful      cross
they'll find their uses for       -- these
they      will      surely      resurrect
with cellar goods --
and      all      of      them      glad
if      grieved      -- if
( abstractly )      moved
by      the      care-lines
Kurt's      wife's
in kind      for