"Evening of the Tipped Boat and Our Resting."
"Last year's mound of dirt subsumes dirt
until crabgrass makes it a hill.
The yearling sheep, ears notched in code,
stand shocked among the gnats.
The crocus blooms dim, the grass sloughs off into the sky.
I listen against your back as you sleep.
Frustrated flies tap and leave at the windows.
I hear the house through them."