She looks at me and I see
You
She builds these things
There was a shock of rye,
Hedgerows gave applefruit, mixed
Pippins from pitched cores, clatter
Of sicklebar bouncing past

It was like this when I
When Irishmen

Graveyards fill with
Kin. Can I really have come
Down this thread of dust? San Francisco's
Absent dead. My own
Grandfather killed
By Squakheags up the street and
Buried here, at this tulip-popple's feet?

Across the river breath
On glass, gladioli
Well-kept by hands with
Fingernails and everything