by Phil Sultz

Love exchanged with prickly care intended to suffice 
the name with dull and firm device when daily bread 
makes trespassing inscrutable, hallowed be thy names, 
a place in the same house and chores through rooms 
and halls, an empty box with plain sides a moment to 
deflate, dissolve, as some who work through fog or night 
or roam the streets and run the measure with all they 
know in line or level everything we lack or miss, have a 
way, something unsaid, a table with food to share or hide, 
the others gone as quick as random waves, the choice a 
child makes in water lore, in soil breaks with grip to lift 
the wing the other way, drag the wash across the line
of vines, by empty walls in one frame of light.