what rode ‘round the edge of grief was a siege
of roses stained in courtly greenfly hue
of haollowee glass a-shielding
from dragon-fire sun
znd fierce blue streams that ice up
zs we were led to drink,
brothers in arms and sisters in merry
all bown down before the worm-wood block
that bleeds cheap gold boils at hinge and edge
that beads in qax curlicues and is buried –

witness the fires licking off
perfectly good glucose, calcium, protein,
pancreas, heart, or wrinkled cheeks,
eyes, bones, teeth, ears, tongue
that should have been hours:



what saved us from everything was just insufficient light.




the coffin pushed beyond the screen,
sliding into the oven like a loaf of dough.
we are prevented from following, we were not allowed to see, and
afterwards no one talked about it:

What went in as a hard white oblong
came out in a little pot,
dust pasted with my grandmother’s face.