I stopped by to see you but you were not home
marshland
the pure vision
my ancient lives all risen up and rising
shudder in my bed to come up against
a living religion; they get offended so easily;
blow up your hundred-foot Buddha
no problem. Entire mountainside.
Presumably it's an improvement
on whatever came before
on what was here before
ancestral crypt your daddy built; a grassy hill; a patchwork quilt;
inadequately warming.
Copyright © 2010 by Rebecca Wolff. Used with permission of the author.