There is no poem like a gravestone,that tersely worded, lapidary tercet,the name, the numbers, and the R.I.P.that are the skeleton key to all biography.Some lie embedded, trapdoors in the grass,while others rear their monumentalcornices and angels, like cathedralswhere worms receive the body’s

What milk      what honey you were promised gall       in ZionKiss the weeping wall’s cheek       love       sows salt in Zion It’s the recurring dream       of all      &nb