You with the mythic, mythopoeic look—

You with the mythic, mythopoeic look—

Into a simple tool, the honest crook

With which you nudge us toward that Stygian wharf

Where Charon rubs three bony digits, frowning—

Conner of texts—wave-skimmer—angel and grifter—

Joke-god—god-in-the-back-of-the-room, class-clowning—

The writing and the poem and the reading—

The dreams of sleepers and the quick of metal—

A flowing into quivering solid beading—

Unsettling wherever you may settle—

Teacher—bamboozler—anything—nothing—mist—

Concealer—Revealer—and—topping the list—

Poet. Musician. Magus. Cattle-rustler.

Priority Mail

Before the mind’s eye even opens,

Before the telegraph boys stir,

The sudden inkling Messenger

I

Did

Your cattle

Or your sheep, Phoebus.

I was at home with my mother.