I like goat's milk. Do you
like almonds, dust of morning,
which rhymes with guts of clocks,
meow, meow, meow?
I have studied some goodbyes
myself. In August winter,
dreams of science, the lest
of dirt—some wind in the eye.
Picture a goat’s wide oblong pupils, wise as an onion, unbroken as prose.
Wheel and handle, thumb in
the air. Oh, here is who
I am—what I wanted to say
was wordless. Here, kitty, kitty,
rub your skull against my knee.
For tomorrow will fall, the apple of us all.