Dedication

So who's it for, this monumental book
finessed with the pumice of my own hard head?

For you, the only one able to look
deep within my ravings for 'a kind of sense',

and who once, in a dream, dared to unfold
the world's slow perversion from iron to gold:

a feat of graft and sheer intellection.
Here, wisest friend, it's all yours if you can lift

it or hold it down. Dear girl, God's sweet gift,
may it last longer than the review section!

(Catullus 1)



Three Old Songs

i)

Yet once more, the plum tree is transfigured;
the birds recite their Angelus again.
Discomforted by the odd green flame,
he douses the patio with weed-killer.
...