To a man and his resolution
a woman is someone steadfast
to be decided in the early morning sun
surrounded by the aroma
of a coffee drizzle
as the skies and the gods above
smile down bereaved
and jovially bearded
not benign but somewhat clumsy
in and out the Central Avenue traffic lights
smothering the blossoms of
all your soul’s passion flowers
as if in life as if in frenzy.

You are the evening threshold
and you are the smog
and the hungry people passing by
you are the haggling,
the snug pigeon hole
and the likenesses
of all the gods above
hanging her tongue red
and hanging loose
as if she were yourself.
Woman as Guntar Gras had once stayed and wondered
the people streaming by the cobbled ways
that cannot be considered familiar
as if in a dream
for we are the men to be herded together
flooding your wilderness
offering nothing
for we are the powers that be.