OK.
I'll read some poems from Genius Loci.
Well, I think a little shift in tone wouldn't be a bad idea.
Well, everybody's depressed enough, and grieving enough,
and suffering enough with what kind of creatures
are we, anyway, with the national suffering that's
going on.
I had my house robbed once in Tucson in 15 years,
only once, that's not bad.
"For the Thief."
"Thank you for leaving the desk and the chair, the books,
snapshots, and piano.
I've heard of moving van robberies, coming
home from work to percussion of empty rooms.
Thank you for leaving the trapped air that softens
the blunt edge of my day.
What's mine the hum of identity still surrounds me
though the electronics are gone, and the jewelry
that was too precious to wear.
Thank you for not spraying the walls with Coke or with piss.
Thank you for being a professional, tidy and quick,
entering with a clean silent cut,
not wasting your time or mine with vandalism or assault.
When my mother was robbed, the closets and drawers
were dumped on the floor.
All that was stolen were towels that had hung in her bathroom.
Her neighbors, the police said, had lost their cookware.
Better our houses become someone's mall
than shooting range.
With my cousins, one in New York took
a knife blade against her throat, another in Madrid,
was dragged three blocks by her hair.
Thank you for knowing what you were here for,
for tending to your business without rage."