Two poems in Prelude
Passing
Bristling at the lectern,
His patterns were
Against the heart of chrome liquor
And the pasted ads from the holiday –
Cunning ever is the selves
We take for helping.
Had you prepared his applause
Instead of passing for it,
Like the island can clamor a call
And give our party relief,
The lures he made would culture
Thousands of pictures
Of wrecks no one expected
To prohibit.
No Familiar Symbol
Green clothespins plagued the skeletons
After they were brought here.
No familiar symbol had come to us
Out of the past to protect our interests
When the moss eroded the woods.
It’s hard not knowing which years
Are voluntary and which ones practice
Starting in the bush, so once in a while
We plant a tree, layer it with oxides,
See what kinds of things it needs, what times.