Chantilly powder
On the porcelain tub back
I dream of lofting:
Designing a space for a wooden ship
By a still
sill-thread (like sill-light under a lintel)
You walk wooden parapets at night that fragile
Outsides of boat
Buildings
Lofted with what spare time you've got cropping a girl from Quebec with head injury susatined, baling her out with blueprints of cathedral let go that last Roman arch, come to my breast again.
Una Dantista,
She studies
Woman scholar
Translator
Past resident of homeless shelters
For the psychiatric
Green eyes
Gigliolas mother
The last friend
To see me walking
July 1, 1951
The last child
Ecstatic like child atop a glass greenhouse
I balanced
First on one foot
Then the other.
She asks whether Emma is real
Or imagined
Her problem being jealous
Like mine.
Real, her hands stirring blueprints of glass
Cathedrals
Churches. Not over a boatboy did Lesbia wreak her heart at sea.
Was Sappho herself beyond jealousy?
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