for JK and EL

not with the homeless your of air-wide welcome
yet here at the sending toward poor shall mighty
lips by turns mother and command those astride
the refuse-silent door, is hand storying cries
above the gate that looks like sunset imprisoned
in a blue Bic but instead harbors the serious business of draining
tumors that while they do teem from hand to lamp in the her
of exiled masses, also finger burning hair
much huddled in trumpets—that is what lifting
a lamp means beside the door, nameless woman
famous for her torch (she has no
twin but the give of your own limbs