So we shoveled it. Climbed over it.
When a boy's loved he is loved.
We kissed him at the countdown. 
Then we went to bed.
Then I woke and on the screen 
an executioner's wife for him was worried.
Both on and off the screen,
there was still a lot of snow.
I went out and stuck my hand in it,
felt around for a handle. None.
So I picked myself up and walked to the bank.
Does it seem
to you I am alone? Guesses may enter. In coats or 
shyly. No, not alone. Not
The wind was a friend. Dining
and down. I bent over,
I listened to the flow.
Home, yes
but leaving. Home, sure, fine, 
but, where's the bathroom?
Where's the light? Anyway,
the soft-swell said, lisping its S's
Anyway, if you're at home here, 
you're a guest. So I bowed.
I said, I'm sorry to have bored you.
Broad, the river jello-d in a thud
of sun. 
I climbed aboard,
I rowed. (For a guest will often
take the oars when urged.)
A border flew open like a cough.
I never paused, I never looked up.
I leaned back to balance
my enormous brown tongues as they dipped
to green and red 
furrows of light between wet-mounds.
My boat rocked, steady
un-steady. Was I welcomed?
It seemed I was as I gripped and privately
The night soon lost its head. I said,
Ah. I'm here. Pulling up now,
parking, as it were,
looking for something to eat,
to redeem.
The wind shook the seedpod
but the seedpod wasn't moved.
And though I thought I'd done 
the damage I was born for,
there was still so much to step through,
so much to mar.