this language. Can not
detail the fresh plucked

basil leaves—an altitude
of flesh, smoothed like sea

glass washes, I do not

imagine Coney Island
without you. Who would wander

the rusted distances, to come close
to speaking. This language, ripe

Tomatoes cannot

describe your collar

bones. I found red below the bed
rock, uncovered stalk-eyed

flies.                                We had to lie

on the coaster's floor. Then share the carousel's
only stalking horse, then salty

sandwiches. Of only

meat and tender. I have nothing

to say about the belly
when it falls away, yet saves

fullness, the space between city
buildings. I have no way

to tell you about the holds,
aweigh of the ship

captain who kept me

covered in paprika

on the deck. He read

to me in a language
I could not understand, his name

for me was Lily, was Lila, was

Night was a time to yell, to lie

in the grass. The tiger, Lily
is a type of day

Lily. I've never planted
seeds and then hoped

for a garden.
                              I never began this

letter made from twigs

addressed to the haunted
house you know with quince

trees crowding the yard
I keep my vows ushered

but can't find any
of the vowels I meant

to wrap up and give you
in the language. I can

not be a solid, or hot
soup. A stock waiting

for the spell. Screaming letters
          from stalks
                    from the garden                    I can't call Lily

____

To prepare Traditional Coney Island Sauce: Pour 1 quart of tomato juice into a saucepan and bring to a slow boil. Drop in 1 lb of uncooked, lean hamburger meat. Add 1 to 2 tbs. of paprika, 1 to 2 tbs. of cumin, 1 tsp of garlic, 1/2 cup of chopped onions, 1 tsp of salt, and 1 tbs. of onion soup mix. Simmer the sauce for at least one hour. Spoon generously over hot dogs. You may adjust the recipe to suit your tastes.