From “September Roams a Vertical Passage”

     1.
In the skin of love,
tinted glass and bone
utopia sets aside.

Surely, this can stand
picturing. I, Quan Âm,

mother of wretched
jewels. To you, flight.
East favoring wind.

     2.
Meanwhile, diligence
takes a kilometer

walk between regimes.
Like Sebald, for whom
each novel begins

the infinite sentence,
write. Bull rope. Topaz.

Crown inlaid with bright
emerald. Fire. Fire.

     3.
At the War Memorial
Chapel on campus,

remember how you
took all your clothes off
in front of everyone

during a performance?
Naked grief screaming

on both haunches down
that cold, slick aisle,
you barked like a dog.

     4.
For the stone basin
where a lover brought
himself erasure,

have pity on nights
without reason. Indeed,

no match for autumn.
You could dye its fabric
red. Holy ruin.

This is Boat Country.
Rhythm, a phrase held
aloft by thin thread.

     5.
Melody, sea foam.
South of Saigon, hear
of the worst goodbyes.

North, my temple, styled
teal for fidelity.

I laugh because you
can’t see me laughing.