but for us they

not the inner grace of the blind

but the outer grace of the deaf

                                   divers leap from the cliff edge

that also is for you

the whole body a sign

                                   or jockey on horse

the shine

after the quake people crawled from

                                   collapsed houses

enough to make you cry

hands out of pockets out of gloves

the flaw is the perfection of the template

maybe everything he knows of women

made to be seen

                       birds know themselves

                                   shit and feathers

but they fly for us

           sound on air

           moth born to die

           incandescent bulb

           our youth

the earth even