memory believes
fragrance of a town(whose
dormers choke
and snore the steeples writhe with

rain) faces (at windows do not
speak and are ghosts or
huddled in the darkness of
cafés people drink

smile if here there (like lopsided
imaginations)
filled with newly murdered
flowers whispering barns

bulge a tiniest street or
three contains these prettiest
deaths without effort while
hungering churches (topped

with effigies of crowing
gold) nuzzle against summer
thunder (together) smell only
such blue slender hands of god