From Sickness to Reason

How one becomes
what one is:
a black handkerchief 
in the breeze. 

Even a wolf
lies down 
in the snow
to arch 
the wound 
of objection.

No one is free to live everywhere.

Baudelaire perceived his spleen
as a quadrangular sky 
or a God made 
in our own likeness.

Drought as illness:
oblique drops of flame
violate the swell.

Two women
with their heads covered 
kneel in the weeds, 
praying for the night bed,
with the dark yard.