Here They Are on Frederick Street

And she's staring,
hair fallen and shaken
over the sorrow of bone,
looking in the warm water, his chest,
the warm pond,
the bending weeds and the heart
lurking there,

for the happy man
has unbuttoned his shirt.
Warm down the sides, it ached a while.
Now cold gathers in the sleeves
and waves the wrinkled wings
around him, around his heart,
around the girl he holds
naked, far from Eden.