776 Readings


When your son is gone
to Mars with
the verve of a Mayan city
you will count

yourself cheap,
loose as dust.

Fast to his chest through wires
the knowledgeable world suckles

while his wives still don’t cancel each other out,
far as he is from the sun,
near as he comes
to too many souls.

Then, the night
of his naked arms
this man who leaves

the vehicle for a rock the color of
war, who lives
& dies by valves & hoses—

parts that must, you think,
& will
have names.

Posted 03/30/10
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