Lecture Notes

Oftentimes at dawn a hurting clarity bid

me go to the hall where my children sleep 

and out the lights of each one, so as to give 

space back to the world for fresher light

with planar features & how sweet to hear 

the cries of them, the young, before they start 

their speaking, like idiots—The last—pale, flickering—

offers in trembling hand the wilting image of one

particular or other—It is not enough to save him—

No speech or ceremony before sealing

the chamber door—No grief—No need—My weak

child, you were born into a poverty 

even heroes couldn’t escape—Now to 

the study to out the woman I was, who is

foisting herself onto some brittle verse, no doubt—