What's the baby's name? I ask
and then forget automatically.

How heavy was her bowl
under the moon lamp of the

first world, if this is the first
world, if indeed the world

we could count them. What
is the name of my angel?

Alma, is she here? I ask
and then forget automatically.

The bird keeps coming back
to the busted faucet that pokes

from the brick, and if I ever
knew anything, I knew this:

I stopped singing when I
got too scared to tell a lie