Memory PalaceA cloud takes a lifetimeto smother the sun. It's finallya crime, but it's also a glory,the lining sizzling gold,the afternoon's imageocculted. Truth is I don'thave an art. One pulls the otherone down. I know there's a blue-purple hill.I know all the girlsdisappear. I don't break a sweat. I sitthe whole year with a birdon my lap. The firmamentwobbles. Their deeppurple feet. Asleep, it comesback, fast, but latethere were poisonous leavesand salt on the pathlike an alphabet.