I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
     flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
     went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy
     bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

We go in search of history and find

a guillotine at a garage sale where the lady

of the house in curlers and stretch pants

sits in a lawn chair knitting, knitting.

The guillotine is ugly but has historic

value, we say, and take it home

to replace the wagon wheel in the yard,

but we can’t get the damned thing to work.

Nobody told us the lubricant of history

is blood. We thought it was money.

Is Grandma’s pickle crock historical?

How much is it worth? Could we convert

the rusted old tricycle into a fountain?

But history sings like a chain saw

in the woods, a freight train

in the night. History is the grizzled

Viet Nam veteran with his dog and sign,

begging at the intersection. History

is the yellow detritus of used condoms

at the edge of Lovers’ Lane.

History is a lottery ticket, a truck full

of cocaine approaching the border crossing,

a drunk on the wrong side of the highway.

History is hallucination, fantasy, a mirage

in the desert, as blind as justice.

Historians suffer from the fever of time

but never know what time it is.

They are mad poets making up stories.

The history of war passes a hat and we

put our children in it. Then somebody

gives us stars to put in our windows,

one star for each child.

On the streets of history there are more

guns than lovers, but who could stay

indoors on such a day when the chestnuts

have leafed out at last and lilacs

fill the air with the heartbreak of history.

Dear March—Come in—
How glad I am—
I hoped for you before—
Put down your Hat—
You must have walked—
How out of Breath you are—
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest—
Did you leave Nature well—
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me—
I have so much to tell—

I got your Letter, and the Birds—
The Maples never knew that you were coming—
I declare - how Red their Faces grew—
But March, forgive me—
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue—
There was no Purple suitable—
You took it all with you—

Who knocks? That April—
Lock the Door—
I will not be pursued—
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied—
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come

That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame—

I wonder what I’d do
               with eight arms, two eyes
                              & too many ways to give
                                             myself away

                                             see, I only have one heart
                              & I know loving a woman can make you crawl
               out from under yourself, or forget
the kingdom that is your body

& what would you say, octopus?
               that you live knowing nobody
                              can touch you more
                                             than you do already

                                             that you can’t punch anything underwater
                              so you might as well drape yourself
                                             around it, bring it right up to your mouth
                              let each suction cup kiss what it finds

                                             that having this many hands
                              means to hold everything
               at once & nothing
to hold you back

that when you split
               you turn your blood
                              blue & pour
                                             out more ocean

                                             that you know heartbreak so well
                              you remove all your bones
so nothing can kill you.