Widows’ Chase

/ /

Nature imitates art then
beats it up they stop the
fight in the second round
on some livid hill

There was no one to call
to care to share the news
with so you sit there turning
in an ancillary world and dawn
occurs from which some
brittle songs emerge

We saw it close over us
covering its eyes like a giant
fly no more friendly than
your hat just another blank
with the cypresses on fire

You struggle to save a grass
hopper from the house a thank
less task call it a threnody in
memory of the way life intrudes
its somber glow assembles
bridges into a smooth hound’s
tooth a seemingly free choice in
which only one alternative is
offered have this or none and
then tomorrow the gravel said

He dreams about asparagus
the two-star chef the dawn
the fawn the pawn the radish
in the garden the doe the foe
the inconsolable