in a chariot
in a dream
three thousand years ago
I sit resting

thinking that cloud
looks like a spear
armed with plans
I wake and think

our house seems
like a small
palace we keep
ready for someone

terrifying
I read a few pages
of The Odyssey
trans. Richmond Lattimore

someone dead
touched these pages
I hand you your coffee
your face shines

turning the plastic
rod opens
the venetians onto
the backyard

and all the crows
feeding on the fig tree
fig trees are lucky
they keep crows

off the vegetables
funny to think
god could be gone
visiting the Ethiopians

a long time gone
has been our god
or so we have
for a long time

been saying we believe
can you believe
the year I was born
someone touched

these pages
life is not a journey
or a hecatomb
which is a sacrifice

100 cattle slain
then roasted until
the limbs are black
then eaten

we are sated
this morning I tried
out the idea
life is a relief well

but that is boring
now engaged
we are watching
all our friends

watch us like
a very good program
that turns out
to be boring

almost every day I see
a hummingbird
it's still surprising
halt above some plant

and I can see why
that is what they call him
I remember very
early one morning

in the backyard I saw
a man very slowly
climb up the trellis
breaking it

with his foot
then scramble
onto the blue
roof of the shed

a little lighter
just like the sky
than the ocean
later into the kitchen

I go and pour
new water
into the glass
we are using

as a vase
for the short stemmed
red and light
purple sweet

smelling flowers
the flower seller
told us were sweet peas
we bought them
and brought them home
around themselves
they somehow filled
our house

with factory gloom
after you go
the great machines
do nothing
I make a short journey
one part of the house
still so dark
it scares me