I have written poems

pomes (pennyeach)

like pommes

as in pommes de terre

those roots with eyes—

and now I write

in my eyes, to my eyes

à mes yeux

which means

in another light

‘by my way of thinking’—

and so

to think of you

as something like

the apple

fruit

of one or another eye

without forgetting, too

the dead dark

stare of the potato—aye . . .

to choose the apple

Apfel

sure

or Abfall—

that is, trash or scrap

which is dropped

or lost

or thrown away—

all this is only

or merely to say

je me rappelle

or ich erinner’ mich

‘I call

to mind’

or ‘call you forth’

and give you a name

like ‘that which

falls from the tree

to the ground’—

aye—

in the glinting sun

you fall

to the earth

to the dead

dark gaze of the

pommes de terre

like the gaze of

your hard black

silent eyes—

and now, to think

as a pomme finds rest

so too

a poem—

a fit of recalling

or calling back

to all that reminds me

more or less

or less and less

of you.