after Alvin Baltrop &  sam sax

i have yet to mention semen

       in a poem, although, dear reader

it has always been here. it is not

      that i failed to, i just neglected. but

while we are here, let’s speak

      to failure. i have failed to

mention crying here, not the tears

      but actual deluge. i have not

failed to talk about the grief of sex.

      there are other griefs i wish i could

have mentioned in these poems but i do not

      grasp the ability to hold it in a healthier

way other than by fucking

      a man. i have mentioned a man

in each memory. like most men,

      their relevance is very little. i am unsure of

how to relate this to the dead

      animals in each poem. i have

however, mentioned the sandhill

      cranes, their glossed wings

skimming the river’s out stretched

      tongue. i think the dying around me make me

question how does one have sex when the air

      reeks of old bones? how is this

sex still relevant when i am

      watching a cooper’s hawk

carefully make incisions

      down a rat’s stomach? why

do we need men when we have

      been given such beautiful birds?

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