Curriculum Vitae

 As though it were reluctant to be day,
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Morning deploys a scale
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Of rarities in gray,
And winter settles down in its chain-mail,

Victorious over legions of gold and red.

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The smokey souls of stones,
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Blunt pencillings of lead,
Pare down the world to glintless monotones

Of graveyard weather, vapors of a fen
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We reckon through our pores.

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Save for the garbage men,
Our children are the first ones out of doors.


Book-bagged and padded out, at mouth and nose
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They manufacture ghosts,
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George Washington's and Poe's,
Banquo's, the Union and Confederate hosts',

And are themselves the ghosts, file cabinet gray,
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Of some departed us,
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Signing our lives away
On ferned and parslied windows of a bus.

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