I Scored a Ghost
slice of boot on the frayed sylph
—Barbara Guest
How cities attempt to mirror
Venice. Then the rain comes
(and the ice). I’ll take the high
road, the Stockholm archipel-
ago. Birds of pallid Aptos
bless the charcoal sky and
the rain, inventory ghosts
of happy evenings, group
ghosts specific to time
and place made possible
by weathermaps of vast
airy rooms; obligatory
candids. A parquetry of
chalklines gives one voice
to each perspective. But
each [unit of time] I’ve
no less than a [number] of
voices. Do the math. So
then we watch The Triplets
of Belleville as the Swedish
seabirds multiply and gather,
gather and (again) multiply.
