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INVISIBLE POEM #11

These words any of them so far
From each other let alone us and
The things we call after them but
Lie in the grass on the side of the hill
And no matter how slowly you turn your head
There they all are together

Cold air comes up off the river

Late in the morning we trace
The old masters in our broken house

Partly by drinking coffee

Heat and the heart
The doctor's daughter

The glasses on the shelf rattling

We let the ghost in
When it was too cold to think
And ideas were returning
Each unto its city to be taxed

Essays breathed out of it at midnight
On the things we had whispered
Into books of the moon's

That the moon is a library
Anybody with a heart already knew

But all the same written with long lines

The months roll into the alarm system