Michael Schmidt, 22 November 1979
I had a savage dream of destinations: A ten-foot fence, barbed, and on the wire Bones and the rags of prisoners. I had This dream, and woke in the cool English air.For My Father
I learn the dead wear shoes. Their beards cast a last shadow. Kissing your face, I’m troubled by the roughness As when you came to tuck me up, Brushed my cheek with yours And tip-toed out.