Through the green
pond and aspens
moves something made up
in my mind I can say my name
and paired foxes disport then
vanish in the brush Remarkable
objects are everywhere here Deer vertebrae
in a runnel A microwave in a ravine
and the fragments of pop and medicinal
bottles Night sounds move through real
to reel beyond compare And that’s where
I always seem to run into you Sitting
and thinking there Wish it wasn’t
so Or wish it wasn’t “and” Maybe
I should command my surname
to land, light as a nom de plume, on some
ancient Oedipal mound I am not he Though
I live in Columbus’ hand The regents
admonished Chris to “top
her” Horizontal mists
broke open to a finger
of land