Three Poems

Translations on Waking in an Italian Cemetery

                        Infrared afternoon,

                        Only a river, a washed-up

                        river-bride—

                        Sparrow, I whisper this to Kriti.




From The Seventh Circle of The Raven Hell


These days I need an icepick just to

walk to the kitchen


                        Writing of windows, the windows break—

               Silent ballerina, again.




Translations

on Waking

in an Italian

Cemetery


Two letters to Victoria, alone

on the table, I

touch

Them, quickly, Brooklyn

Museum