My brother Jack was wild.
That’s frequently the case with Tuesday’s child
who has the gift of grace and no gift other—
             but I
             have had no lover.

Iron numerals give the address, and the year’s
engraved, not written.
             I was three times bitten,
by frost and a neighbor’s dog and cousin’s child—
once felt a touch that burned through my heart’s cover
but could not speak nor move away nor turn…
             I have no lover.

My brother Jack was wild
with mistresses who circled him like moons
             one black, one gold,
             one turning early gray,
and while the piper’s waiting for his pay
he still will play the most bewitching tunes!
             But I
             have had no lover.

My brother Jack is wild.
He watches leaping things and things that fly
and distances that hounds or falcons cover.
             But I have watched a spider in the sky
that spins gray lace as patiently as I
             wait for my brother…