Three Poems

Swarm

Now it's done: the absences are placed.
Begin, swarm.

The walls of an appalling cathedral
Cupped me.

Inside its shrinking sulphurs
I'd nurture reedy weeds.

I made a garden out of flies and rust
And sang in a bath of sweat.

Settled in my kiln of dung, I wept
Like clay, and thrived.

Old spittle architecture, old sculpted hive -
Your skills I must forget.

Now I draw blank vectors on the page: they're
Big white plates, expectant.

How honest Is our usage of friends?
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