P. was a little flame with a pale chest
A white shirt open
He sat his sisters hand-in-hand
to electrify them
P. set his house on fire
He was new-light, my laudanum
No was a needle with me
a dull gleam in the old-light
Yes was a light-tower
that seeped through the door
of my lairy room
It grew out of ground
grew risk like millions
like flickers of stars
like pins, black seeds
He was my shiver, blood on the outside
His light-handed rules,
his heavy-handed love
rewrote you, Mother,
and your grave
Yours, trying to explain,
Mary