from LETTERS
You spoke of uncertainty as if it were a nest. You gave
me
its singular unguarded beauty. It was a gold cup.
It was a lake
that I could drink or drown in. You caught me as
I was looking,
as if I were looking at a crowd gathering on our
shores.
They were speaking your name. I stuttered, and it startled
your sense of home. When we left, the scene
darkened.
Is it enough to sing about this? Enough to say what
we kept?
In another sentence, a machine replaces the word
green for darling,
but this is the story of the lake and cup. I am in
it as someone speaking.
You are like the green curtains that open or close.
