Never begin a poem with the word "We." You might as well begin it, "Here is the sort of thing I learned to write in that creative writing class."
I saw you in a house at sea you were in every room and each room had a light of its own in the living room the protean light of the future in the kitchen the busy light of childhood in the bedroom the physical light of remembrance in the attic the muffled light of crossroads the sea turned into a desert the house to a bird the color of the sky which lifted itself on wings of wind leaving you among the skulls and cactus with gold to curse at love to curse with
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