Tonight the lares have eaten their offerings.
The sweetbreads are gone, black kidneys
Infantine and nacred as mollusk-eggs. The smoke
Circles and begins to clear.
When the finger points toward us, we answer,
When the eagle opens its mouth,
When the fly sings to a honeycomb,
Emptied by plague, the hive scattered with bodies,
Let us not forget the wolf, his last rite.
Let us not forget the due.
These animals bode well for the new year:
We will begin this again and again.


The violence has congealed to a horn, a buck’s
Long cartilagineous tube:
It must be the beginning of abundance.
The swarm lifts and banks from the hills;
Everyone is coming to witness me
Coming apart: I have made myself so edible,
So extraordinarily meat.
—The way you spoke to me just now, I almost heard
The murmur of insects, preparing a new hegemony.
We break the glass in the green drum.
The beetle swims in the eye of day.
Time marries me inside myself.


Our witch is lighting the fires; her hut smokes,
Sending up its sole grey plume.
I am homeless. I live everywhere.
The forest yawns open like the ocean, a green grave
Where I could be an intaglio locket,
Birds singing between my bones.
The water-snake slithers in the palace hall.
The blue-white tiles fall off the wall,
Breaking, breaking the Delft plate.
At evening we fished out the boot under the dock
Scratched our heads and turned home
While the beetles went on breeding there in the boards.