Back by the fax machine
Say in summer when the
Clouds are rolling in like
A head of cauliflower; I know
Whose prayer we dance to
By the refrigerator
God of history
And laughter whom chews
On the benevolence of sadness;
Plants hands with seeds says
The story of rain with
Out a word believes in more or
Less the scrutiny of an infinity of
memories, just the satellites
Of death all primrose at dusk
        and paper cut dancing
In his mind the plaza.