He reads: Rain-dark clouds. Staying married. Says,
not lost to
wet fields and photographs
of snow, the end. It was and it wasn't. Is and isn't.
The boy saying, c'mon Mom let's take a walk. There's
nowhere to go, she answers. She serves eggs on bits of
paper and balances her hair. Swept,
the floor could
never be, never clean, I was and wasn't
mixed into the various. Both alone (mountain)
and multiplied (mountain) I rolled backwards through
water. Friends given over to ambition, grief or bad news
didn't call. I was always missing but nearly,
my mind was wet. I'd forgotten how to blush, left
dear flushed face in the fallen grass reading:

                     When he gives me a light he has to—