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The time on either side of now stands fast.
Something went crabwise across the snow this morning.
Our daughters and sons have burst from the marionette show leaving a tangle of strings and gone into the unlit audience.
Love, we are a small pond.
It is said to begin with the father.
I took the lake between my legs.
Here on the drawing board fingers and noses leak from the air brush maggots lie under if i should die before if i should die in the back room stacked up in smooth boxes like soapflakes or tunafish wait the undreamt of.
Can it be I am the only Jew residing in Danville, Kentuchy, looking for matzoh in the Safeway and the A & P?
And the pond's stillness nippled as if by rain instead is pocked with life.
This dwelt in me who does not know me now, where in her labyrinth I cannot follow, advance to be recognized, displace her terror; I hold my heartbeat on my lap and cannot comfort her. Tonight she is condemned to cry out wolf or werewolf, and it echoes in the gulf and no one comes to cradle cold Narcissus; the first cell that divided separates us.
