over two inches said the radio—
I follow the example of monks
who write by a window, sunlight on the page.
I loaded a wheelbarrow with wood
and steered it down the hill to the house,
and later I will cut down the dead garden
to a grave in the woods,
but now there is only
my sunny page which is like a poem
and the dog asleep on the tiles,
her head in her paws,
her hind legs played out like a frog.
to want to run in circles in the yard again,
pretending to be an airplane.
when, night and day, the boats,
strong as horses in the wind,
come and go,
and carrying away the bodies of the dead.