Sonnet 94:

If I had had the foreground I’d have subsided in attrition as it were,
I’d have heaven’s grace to weed out pleasure as well as caution.
& if I had taken fewer notes I’d have less power to hurt
thinking of “you,” “me” and any unclenched feelings

we had moving into our very own subjectivities
that we can’t pinpoint or supplicate, my lord, my husband...

May I live and die if fair ever turns sour
in these our summer to summer’s pitched provisos
and integers-to-be, no part to fix, no comeuppance, none.