Year One
The pear in the bowl a week now.
Three days too long. The dark bruise
spreads and everything else
softens, as if in assent. The fifth
analysis, the sixth analysis
on the table. Still to be got to.
And alongside, the stacks of books
for the day to be got to,
the summer day, the winter day, the mind
sitting in the center of the body,
the body in the center of the house,
what pauses naturally,
what hesitates after
a comma and moves on.
Notice the breath caught
as if on a thorn in the thicket:
that is where your intelligence
is to be gathered.
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