This flatness is a sickness.
But this sickness can be cured
with a house.

So for Susan
he built one. Till his hands were tired,
he built one, then added

on, etc.
“As much as the sky
swallows the landscape,”

he’d say, “this
is how much I love you.”
He’d say this

but he wouldn’t
mean it. He’d have one
hand covering his eyes.

Susan knew. She’d leave
the hot sky for her cool
floor. On the linoleum,

she’d wonder, “Is this
how God terrifies? Or is this
just the horizon?”

And outside the house, all over
the yard, their children lay looking
like desperate actors.