further discussion of salt

.
.
to paths only remembered, unreal,
it is always the coarsest philosophies that prevail


the beat-up Chevy Malibu, the two-tone Astrovan,
Sunday morning squabbles over seatbelts,
brothers always jockeying,
varying degrees of disinterest in church,
seeds of unbelief already sewn


quiet evenings of Nihonshu prisms, ice cream,
green and purple Japanese faces,
flashing lights attached to wrists, teeth, foreheads,
and a woman--she steals thoughts,
words right from lips, places them in awkward chairs
for unannounced dinners, and cooks with salt,
and salt


she complains salt,
leans salt,
stories of salt,
and (somewhere that we cannot see)
weeps salt,
an abundance