Excerpt LXI

The same share of voice and silence. A boy goes by

with two wooden pails overflowing with milk, light blue

               milk. The foliage

of trees has warmed up along the avenue — full

of fragrance like the underside dresses of women

we have nothing but this unconvinced toughness for

               women’s legs

ascent, descend, he said, slavery, freedom, detachment,

dream; dream before and after, the original, the

               in between, the extreme.

The cat grooms itself in the sunshine

the dog stares at the upper window patiently

a band of light on the vacant house

the gloves of the retired boxer on the bed

two big glass bowls

where the goldfish with the green bellies gather

the white basin with the red fabric of the widow

            in the terrace

the seafloor water is darker at dawn under the

            sweet surface

they all have a casual excuse.

We too, we too.

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