The deer are not bookmarks. They do not stay in place. I live in an old couplet, evolving amber light in gray jars. I thought The animals would find me, the river would set. The New Jersey vitamin man has many samples in the aisles. He sings Puccini with zinc. He’s not afraid of cherries or taxes or examples or oats. His lover’s hands are wet with ink. I am not raining. The university does not dream of time. Hissing geese in my footprints, talking about health care, misleading the plot. The truth will be pickled, eaten with breath mints. The New Jersey vitamin man grins marmalade. I look for herbal wisdom next to the shore. Where are the animals? Haven’t I paid? I put light in my basket and head for the door.