cold sunlight down tracy street
on a sunday morning
and i am almost able to believe that
the past can be left behind
i am tired of these abstractions
like america and god
i have moved awkwardly into the
21st century and brought with me only the bleeding horse
and it walks
slowly from room to room
without ever casting a shadow
and there is a child somewhere
who will be the next one
to die horribly and there are linda’s sisters moving
through this lush green landscape
ten years after the cancer
devoured her
than motion
nothing is more important
