by David Wojahn

how， o spirits， shall I invoke you， who cannot count himself

among the chosen？

My writings & keenings are interior & treated by appropriate

prescription drugs，

to whom my conversion is incomplete， for some days I devote myself

solely to my dead

in my error I do seek them & do wail. From the wire mesh

I glimpse the chalk marks，

aflicker on a kind of slate. Here is the glyph of patchouli-smell，

graven on a scarf

or silken dress. & here the character for a chin nicked while shaving，

stubble edging a dime-sized birthmark，