As a child I read and rereadKipling’s tale of Riki-Tiki-Tavi,believing in a mongoosewho killed the cobrasNag and Nagina and saveda British family living in India.Years later, with a new house,our yard had its own snake,a long, sleek Black Racerwho swallowed a live frogon our front walk and whoterrified my daughter, streaking under her swing.And there…

Walls divide the day.In one box I sit,another box for sleep,fabric divides skin from sun,page, stanza, paragraphlike pantry shelvesstocked with words,an alphabetical worldsorted, ascending withone key stroke,the brain a file cabinet–drawers stick–dates,addresses, passwords,and promises.Linnaeus named everythingbinomially distinct from all othersbut the falcon knows its preyby shape, size, color, a flash of lightin dark foliage.

Hard can shelter soft–clams, snails, a beetle’s carapace,horse’s hoof. Not all that’s hard is bad.Matter is solid, something of import.Touching it as I pass the soft afghandraped over the back of a chair, partnerto two pillows, a plump footrest–life upholstered, carpeted, soft music, food that melts on my tonguewhich too pliable.My surroundings don’t demandsleeping on…

My head is my home. The floor creaks,paint flakes like dandruff. Might betime to sweep the hippocampusand reupholster the limbic system.The cerebellum needs new drapes.Both frontal lobes are fullof uninvited guests, their bedrollsstrewn around the gray matter.Still, I open the door for morepot-luck strangers who bring meleft-over pain. The poetry shelvesbuckle, and my thoughts outweighManhattan.…

The narrative starts with a grasshopper at my feet, facing me.We consider each other until it helicopters away into a neighbor’s lawn.I could map the miles of sidewalk in this suburb, drop of red dot whereI met the grasshopper, who means no evil, just lives its insect life.The day is free verse, the lyric eye…