lightheaded; throbbing; serpentine; child after a tantrum; roadkill, just alive, a raccoon, that sound; touch of the scythe on the back of the neck; the songs of every tongue, especially those delirious & cruel; the Dalai Lama as a boy, his eyes & purple scarf; chestnut smoke; a god from Caravaggio, there will never be silver in his hair; my grandma’s perfume (Charlie); a plane falling toward a mountain; a father who will not hurry through the airport, though the plane is leaving; the scent of every being who is having sex on this earth; if there will be another day it will not tell; the unspeakably beautiful girl who locks eyes with you but will not speak when spoken to; the first touch of vodka on the tongue, & what the tongue does, bitter willingness; the face of the old Japanese man sitting cross-legged over the Foro Romano at night; a lover’s voice on the phone or first thing in the morning, which you admit though you can’t place yet who it is; flush in the cheeks of an unmarried aunt; a greeneyed boy at a party, reading Celan in French at the window; a train passes in arrant dark or a dog dripping with blood nears the fire or a genius epileptic with blood around the mouth opens his coat & you say “Anything”; a little girl walks still sleeping out of her room down the stairs & circles her house over & over in a slow line with seven wolves; when I woke it was not from this particular dream, & the pathway back to it was not clear …

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