Like a Shark's
We have the eye if not the will. The seasons attract us.
For every grove igniting lemons on a terraced slope
There's a fog; for every breath of air, air freshener.
Love has kept us occupied whatever the condition
Of the economy, no matter how surprised we are
We even like each other, let alone adore or worse.
We never learned to survive the pure menace of beauty:
Incisors like a shark's, angled inwards, no going back.

Post Mortem

I
'All that the assassins have been claiming
has been lies. Their meetings were not social
but a plot. Each courted temptation
...