Seer’s Litany1994Challenged, the first ghost rose up through the porch floor             disgraced by the monument’s upkeep.The second rests peacefully with Robert lying to the right,             under a duckfly by meadow, where he lifts the lake’s land arm.The third cheers the round hills where congregations             of left over blessings slip into the day’s celebration.The fourth rocked for the last time with her undeliverable twins.             He brushed her waist-long hair before the well-tended fire.The fifth could have been kiva dust and shine             if my heart hadn’t felt the welcome. The sixth was an eagle mesa walker barring the narrow bridge             to the old and sacred quarter.The seventh was a traveling trading horde             grabbing my ankles in the warm Arizona grass.The eighth could have been a vision             through the smiling Eskimo girl’s face.The ninth group lined up with a tourist quay at Independence Hall.             But they were cold and hungry.The tenth was a man scalped on Wagner Road in sight of his house.             Who’s still trying to find his family.The twelfth and final call was taller than me,             hair uncombed, jacket unwashed, a bottle in her hand instead of a purse.             She turned to stare directly into my eyes.Why didn’t she leave sideways with her unidentified back to me?            What noise of mine elicited the response of, “How much will you help?” I answered, wordless, “None.”            And no more come.