The Appling

Not letting go
but embracing

and then putting
down to sleep

and keeping
sleep awake behind

the skin lifted
to a look

of my own
long worked-at


and apprehending

a grand mirage
the image

of oppor-
tunity a memory

of how it must
have been

in home
and house

of a new acquaintance
with her mother

if not animals
but surely there was

a garden
and room enough

to hear
I slept

in the attic

seeing the Indian
in the Cupboard

and even at that

age I thought
myself to

have illegally
attained a modicum of

interiority albeit the amorphous

heft left
and felt


fizzled moppings
of soft brown stairs

a beardless visage
plain or vacant with no

thought sounding unprofound