from THE DAYLIGHT SECTIONS (91)

I do not own her majesty
she walks grace in the yard
where threads demean a closely held
indifference imposed by fact
just leavened toward a factor
traded in the heist
of overcome divisibles

unless a shade too dark the pavement
talls to meet these redwood overtones
and all the work of yards replays
commitment in the rapid rise of glottal
stoppage worked upon by decibels intact

now she becomes a mineral ingredient
to be preserved
and evidence whitewalls the tinge
of who she was before
slipping toward present tense
against some better jazz
for glyphs to be repaid to savages
made whole before disturbing nature
as informal grasp