a moment at my desk

my dog is gone two months now, probably never to return, but the rubber plant in the back room has recovered from her interrogations and can come down from the top shelf. jackson's watching a puppet show on the telik, his mind as perfect as a smoke tree. roof troubles in the house we rent. the landlord is having a hard time making his ends meet, which i'm shamelessly unconcerned about, especially when the rain touches my good furniture.

i put on maxine kumin's paper shroud and feel like my husband just died, as he did twenty years ago, and the barely bearable immediacy of her irony. her doppelganger haunts a chekhov story in an old suit in an even older century.

which reminds me it is august, and in august klimt gives me a kiss for the whole world, a beautiful obscenity wrapped in a golden choir. i'm saving up my bottle tops for movie tickets, magazine subscriptions, and bottles. peas are blooming and birds bathing out the window. i am a nation of one, a debt with no figure, a soul less collateral. but a good day is when the bluejay sings and the dog i have left me chases after the song with murderous intent

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a russian girl from the bar where i tend sent me a letter with a little poem by solovyov, and i spent the night translating a rough draft:

'бедный друг, истомил тебя путь'

poor girl, the road has run you ragged

come to me, rest your weary eyes

lay down your crumpled flowers

it’s dark and night has fallen down

where you were, which way you came

i care too much to ask now

but if and when you call my name

i’ll press you close without a sound

time and death reign the world over

but don’t call them master

while all must tumble into darkness

still the rays of love hold their ground