back, and now
there’s nothing but a hole
in me, fathomed with regret.
CONTEMPLATING THE EGG
If it’s blamelessness you want, stay in bed.
At the moment you crack an egg you’ve sinned.
As what’s careless and rote—a state, a taking place—
will open. The egg will crackle
its hundred laughed hellos at your thoughtless repetition.
And you won’t hear since you’re so busy
planning the day, your simple indestruction. Impervious begins
your wrong turns and you forget
this has to end, that this might be the last thing that you kill—
finality cradled in the hand,
what small oval and your hunger for the inside. All of it
coming out so easily: you
flick your wrist and let the day begin.
MY GRANDFATHER SINGS AGAIN
I found a cassette with your voice singing.
The wheels of the tape turned away from time
to let me hear your rendition of Folsom Prison Blues.
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