Say spill: and think
of what you can offer
with both hands, pour
into dry well, wind
warm around throat
and shoulders
as you lean against
an open doorway. Say
circlet and bar;
edge of small halo
night won’t leave
alone, wants
to take every small
particle in its
mouth; smoke from
a row of citronella
candles. Say hand-
clap and key, say
borrowed flare
swinging its arc
over the gate and back
alley. Say welcome. Say
nothing of ordinance
or contain, diminish.
What is so bitter
that it can’t abide
your visible water-
fall, your simplest
device? So generous:
abundance that fills
every shape and strikes
the oldest bells into
a chorus. Pity the one
that struggles inside
the cloth-draped cage,
the stairwell in which
specks of dust float,
robbed of any chance
to stipple with gold.