Occasional is
never the what
we want from before
or the what it is but
what is made by
photograph
cameraphone
runner

A naked
man on my doorstep
from 1865. The war
he said is over.

Because he was naked I didn't
believe him. I also have a time
believing God
that he is. Today
I was embraced
alongside the faithful. We
were together addressed.

Many parts
still cry out to be
cynical as is my nature.

Nature I have
manufactured
from words, paralysis, the type
of thought which follows
from those places although not
perhaps from a jete.

In my
house three boys
chatter about snow, more
than anything happening in a mall
this is real. We do not
have a yard of size. The
angels possible
in our yard are smallish
angels for everyday use
angels of bitter
bread, thread
and pencils. I think I may
dislike angels if they are
a cold negative of boys.

The naked man died
soon after.