To grieve

an American grief

a delicate feeling:

from afar      wistful

and brief          To grow soft 

on the milk of America     thick 

with its sleep          To export its

ruin     outspend its disease

To live in a house with death

in its walls          bent-backed 

in its building          to wander its halls     

vigilant in the dark

To be born in the hold

of this dream          burnt black in its glare

pick the fruit from its tree          

turn its fruits in my hands     leave the bruised 

to their rot          take my choice 

cut of meat     

To be shaped by a day 

lived long 

before me     a long dead thing

that visits my sleep          

now a thing to forget:

An American grief