Song

Afternoon cooking in the fall sun--
who is more naked
                                      than the man
yelling, "Hey, I'm home!"
                          to an empty house?
thinking because the bay is clear,
the hills in yellow heat,
& scrub oak red in gullies
          that great crowds of family
should tumble from the rooms
                        to throw their bodies on the Papa-body,
                                      I-am-loved.

Cat sleeps in the windowgleam,
                      dust motes.
        On the oak table
    filets of sole
stewing in the juice of tangerines,
    slices of green pepper
              on a bone-white dish.


-Robert Hass