Old patient song! I know what suit you wear,
whose mother you were, where
you’ve hidden the pearls.
O to be your burning rib, your heartthread,
a black braid—Remember! You are one
of us! Though the city is far and the season
green. Or, if you like, light haze
around the skull, the ancient spellings
of vestigial bone. You have tried to be bad,
living beneath the world. I never think
of you. Tell me the truth.
I never think of you.