We were alive together once.
I thought it was that way from the beginning
of time. And I sang
my songs for him, and he rocked,
squeezing and pulling the accordion in his lap,
while his eyes glistened, shining.
West of the handsome house the land descends
sharply, levels off in a broad flood plain
above Antietam Creek, and then becomes
its sheared-steep bank. The house and land are mine.
For three or four days following the battle
the Creek ran red, from thousands wounded, dead.
You imagine yourself the simplified figure
in this future person’s false romantic idea
of the present moment. You’ve even stopped
believing you know where the sculptures end
and the furniture begins. Well, bully for you
is all I can say—that, and have a good one.