My office is in an old bank—
did I mention this? My job
is to write things, and I sit
at the loan officer's desk.
Maybe you know him.
I think he turned people
away from their desires—
no home or farm, and so
no bride; no signboard
to blazon their name.
Their spirits talk all day.
It seems loss has made us
querulous, but where can
we go when we've keened
all the way to the top? Things
might have been different
for us. Every goddamn thing
might have been different.