WEBVTT

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This is called "The
Spacemen," and it

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began to be a poem about the
arrival of some creatures

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from outer space.

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And after some help
and many versions,

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it turned out to be a poem
about communication, I guess.

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"The Spacemen."

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Every night, a shape like
a bell covers our house.

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Though I do not welcome
it so eagerly, I sleep.

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They step in, blind as light
drops into a man's eyes.

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They enter the
spaces between us.

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My wife will stare
at them like death.

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These heartless fallen stars.

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If our shoes don't fit
or the children's names

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were wrongly given,
they might bury

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us deep in our
lives' disappointment

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and vanish deaf to our need.

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These are real words
and real fears,

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like the sound of a bell.

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Yet we go on rehearsing
and explaining,

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dealing the same cards around.

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And there is always the
silence with which to contend.

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No casual gestures are left.

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We need to fill these spaces
with trust, we don't know how.

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The business of
language falling away,

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all of us standing
like mute guests

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in the living room
against the walls

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without photographs of
ancestors, without tiny gold

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watches to wind.

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