I had complaints.
I laid them all in a row like cooling pies.
A wind came up.
It hailed blackbirds.
They flew in,
They fell out, heavy as stones.
Oh, come to me, come to me now,
Embrace me with your arms of smoke,
Tell me everything
While the birds lie stunned and stupid outside...
But your mouth is full of rain clouds and the birds recover and fly inside;
That's when I know
They weren't birds, they were bats.
What we are is macabre.
Don't come here sunday--
Leave me to sit under my mulberry tree
With tea, and a magazine;
My cheek unbloodied
By the sharpness of your kiss.