Morning Is Morning

I have some explaining to do — 5 o’clock

meant I would speculate

about artichokes (Greek) and the unfarmed mackerel.

Anyway, the men would present us with a bed of carrot

and potatoes + 1 cup of broth.

Our husbandry in sharp mustard

suit, laden with trial pieces for the fondue. I would prefer

not to. I had such friends — 

a long time faring all through the West

with my filth and a bouquet of cutlery

where I had put it: by me.

And yet expansive, the things made by the things

I made. And a supervisor hovering behind me. The heaviness

of being.

I am the Name, Jehovah called from the bush. I had visions

of pigeons. And I replied:

Here I am to be called Ishmael and beget.