Copper Floods

Copper Floods

Black pools gave up arms and men where
none would touch the water since all was let
loose under, stitched in their brain, battened
on bone, a finger from a tailor's seam.

They thought once never to see a stranger thing
as floods lifting coffins from their planting,
still bright and burnished and harlot deep
who made a bed where all could see.

She was one who never choose one country,
one copper house, and curse all staying;
rooms, like lovers, with just one corner good,
not keep again as spouse, as child, accusers.

I have raised dead in many cities and will see more;
all the brass here has been touched;
heart and bone made lighter now
half stitches rubrics splitting seams.

I have always changed your house; already
I have placed a shout inside your dark sobbing
that does not suffer long a little room and shuns
all steady lodging. I will always send you floods,

some to take away, some to raise.

I have dug in many fields and will find more
no margin for the water on my lids;
they cross this lake who shave its frost,
they swim this night who still can sleep

on splitting beams, on drowning beds.