i.
(It is easier, near sleep To follow the slant of each
  drop grouped in the base of one near hymn- a wingside
       Meditation; a bow falls then restarts
          And through this
          through eyes closed and clean pillowed promise,
      tomorrow.–But First.
      now, in the night
      in the bedside shade of one candle)

ii.
What instrument
does it take for you?  to lift one and return to the Old Country,
       not war-torn Russia but to
      Hackensack to the paper prints of her     My
          Grandmother young and dark in this way:
               there is one-
          The Crepe-Paper          dress
               as though she wore a Maypole and the streamers
               wound around her waist, her curls, her fingers
          Look at this one young and wide-wild-wry-eyed
               the cups in their saucers, her eyes
               in their saucers The sockets kept
      and cleaned by the moment.
          When she lights the candle how can we not
      hang our heads
               at least a Little

iii.
Do you remember-      the fear in that kitchen candle Yellow
      Not like of wax, of corn But
      cloth stars kept
      in the spring sink.
          I could not sleep when it sat there,
          while our eyes closed and It stayed
          alone and lit.
      Now in the dream-velvet not a
          tune, but the dripping arrangement of my house
          pooling in the sink.
               a handle of wax in glass

iv.
      the bees in the light swam,
      their last buzz and collected
      in the sink         In what melts in
          ribbons with the fear of waking
          in wax.