ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
BECK'S MILL
stands of corn fields of grass and tall flowers
purple white yellow spread up the rounded valley sides
tracts of trees and deeper forest around and no one
looking on from the trees' edge no one sees the labor
in the fields and the workers' slow drag home
no one's hand has drawn up through dirt the stones
that hinder plows and no one hollowed the earth with sinkholes
and creased it with creekbeds no one stands in the fine night sky
watching the good rest of farms and forest in the cool hours
no one has slipped away to the fallen mill's gray boards
broken rooms stacked with moonlight and shadow no one's
creaking in the rafters above no one stands nearby
in white light on the grave mound for sorrows without name
the exiles ran here and were run again no one followed them
no one stayed behind no one is coming up from far away
tonight holding shells sharpened stones and other gifts
that shine in no one's seeing