This is another one, three-line stanzas
but variable line sort of coming off of that three,
called "The Others."
"Our two children, grown now, is when I think of the others.
Two more times, the microcephalic sperm
battered its blunt cell forward, rash leap to the viscous egg.
Marriage from our marriage, earth and fire.
And what then?
In the open, synapse from God's finger to Adam's hand,
the soul sent back, our lucky or unlucky lost
of whom we never speak."