Procedural

seekers after gold dig up much earth and find little
          —Joan Retallack

poem for                   the next ice age

poem where             no one wears black to the funeral(s)

poem for                   the fact that weather does not ask permission to
                                     touch you

poem using	             specific names for all the people we’ve known who 
                                     have died before turning twenty-one

poem watching	     you clear the driveway of snow	 It accumulates 
                                     the more you clear and more and more and more

poem to	             tease out the wrinkles

poem enacting	     the storm shutters’ sound when you close them
                                     and no one else

poem for	             the day Vi’s mother came to visit us	  Said What 
                                     weather we’re having and nothing more	How 
                                     when she left, it rained for twelve days straight

poem using	            twelve hours spent without music 

poem in spite	   of twelve hours spent without music

poem for	           the condition of the hour that sheds minutes like 
                                   untouched skin

poem for	           Violet and Henry and Katherine and Will and—

poem for		   not knowing how to winnow the wreckage for
		                   language

poem where	   cat walks across the piano leaving half-visible paw |
				   prints: the most alive thing

poem for		   your symmetrical chicken-pox scars

poem that		  could do nothing

  poem scraping	  sheets of ice off the windshield

poem for		  the taut calf muscles pulled under the body when 
				  you crouch to build a fire

poem about		 sixth graders learning the meaning of dormant

poem like		 the nightmare we share where Vi’s body looks only 
				 sleepy—the snowfall veiling her

poem for		 the stray animals you saved from the rain gutter 

poem to		 make voids iridescent

poem as	         eight phone calls in six months	  Accumulation 
				 More and more and more

poem in		 want of mouths that taste more like a thunderstorm, 
				 less like rain shadow’s low urging hum

poem of		 cone seed	  pencil scrape	  moth wing—all our 
				 wind-worn memorials

poem of		portraits of odalisques at rest, shelling peanuts,
				in line at the DMV

poem coming	to me in dreams about hunger, dreams about
			        wishing ghosts were more than a trick of the light

poem where	you say This is the plan and mean it

poem without	wanting a poem 

poem by		silence

poem buying	deicer Its blue looks like Gatorade you said Should
				we drink you said

poem for	        the day you killed a rabid opossum—its blood
				spilled like milk across sargassum-colored shale

poem of		you picking milkweed from the river

poem for		pome and pith and star-stemmed prints left when 
				touched by unexpected cold fronts

poem inspecting collarbone, calling it wing 

poem discovering your long-lost MetroCard 

poem until		   you need more

poem as		   warning

poem as		   water stains on the only photographs we have left

poem about		   being the only ones left

poem toward	stockpiling		batteries	gallons of water
				freeze-dried soup packets

poem in		ode of the magazines in hospital waiting rooms.
				Would you like to take a quiz that will guess 
				your horoscope? Would you like to find the 
				perfect brand of toothpaste? Would you like to 
				see him now?

poem saying	At least and At least again

poem like		the way you helped pack up the socks they’d
				never wear again

poem as		preparation		as closing the picnic-table 
				umbrella	trimming the tree branches 
				turning the thermostat down

poem says
				The next ice age we will be sitting at the 
				      window with matches.
				We will not know we are still not ready.

Read more from Issue 16.2.