Three Songs

There was a gray rat looked at me
 [ ... ]

 Lay me on an anvil, O God. 
 Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar.
 Let me pry loose old walls. 
 Let me lift and loosen old foundations. 

 Lay me on an anvil, O God. 
 Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
 Drive me into the girders that hold a 
	  skyscraper together. 

 Take red-hot rivets and fasten me into
	  the central girders. 
 Let me be the great nail holding a
	  skyscraper through blue nights into
	  white stars.

Bees and a honeycornb in the dried head
  of a horse in a pasture corner -- a skull
  in the tall grass and a buzz and a buzz
  of the yellow honey-hunters. 

And I ask no better [a] winding sheet
  (over the earth and under the sun). 

Let the bees go honey-hunting with yellow
  blur of wings in the dome of my head, 
  in the rumbling, singing arch of my skull. 

Let there be wings and yellow dust and the
  drone of dreams of honey -- who loses
  and remembers? -- who keeps and
  forgets? 

In a blue sheen of moon over the bones
  and under the hanging honey comb 
  the bees come home and the bees sleep.