dedicated to my dear students
They come rainsoaked with logic and apologies
Their papers, folded talismans; they speak and a world opens
Out of loneliness we are all the same.
A jar of pickled stars
Screwed tight down like rumtopf, season after season
Adding pungent words to a life which wants a place to hide
Sweeter for the keeping, the rotting down of feeling
There is no critique for a woman who lost her only sister
For a man who knows that the underworld is full of bright beings
Peeling bletted frost bitten quinces which are made of sorrow’s savours
Better for the sharing, bitter herbs and liquors
Fruiting on one vine.