Listen:
More snow fell than was able
to be plowed. We turned
our faces to the clouds, waited
in waiting rooms to fill out
the forms, kissing each
one like the scalp of a child
with hair as unreal
as a doll built by hand
in the hold of a beautiful ship.
I sit in the room full of porn,
exhale my own name,
the one of that saint who
carried the Christ
child over a swollen river.
