ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

sequence #
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6 7 8 9 10
11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20

  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 15

LATE SUMMER BEES
a creek of broken stones...


EVERYBODY'S UP BY 6:00 BUT ME
light wind moving overhead...


THE KILL
heap of fawn...


THE AFTER-ETERNITY
the western wind has passed...


WALKING
my steps each one marking...


ADVENTURE
pebble your adventure...


FUTURES PAST
these days a strange dark...


10/10/06
one squirrel less...


A THEORY OF LINES
wind bent by the objects it surrounds...


LAST CRICKET
in the hickory's crown...


AN EQUATION
Our minds are formed for a place where no one is stricken, where...


12/7/06
across the last dark of night...


IT IS
a hundred-year walk to the moon...


BLACKSNAKES
They get to be four, five, six feet long quite commonly. No poison...


TURN OF THE YEAR
near the house a trash...


FORGOTTEN
I remember a world...


LIE BACK
the curved moon lies back...


untitled
a cold rain...


IN ANSWER TO THE REPEATED QUESTION
I spoke my name out loud many times...


HIDDEN BEHIND BELOW
the courthouse square almost empty...


WALKING HERE
my feet said my shoes...


SEVEN DEER
earth in your determined ring...


TO SPEAK OF REAL WEATHER
white hands of water...


SOME WRITING
with gaping wounds...


DREADNIGHT
those few still awake are hidden...


MY CONDITION
the small white moths...


WORLD IN LOVE WITH ITSELF
all motion is one motion...


6/22/07
in the field of shadows...


solitude motionless
my hands stronger...


EVASIVE APOLOGY
I am sorry for all the ones...


PRAYER
...


JUST BETWEEN FRIENDS
a day any day...


untitled
hard verse that will not leave...


8/25/07
the day between two wings...


TO A BUZZARD
cousin...


A MYSTERY
one bird's anxious calling...


STORAGE
blaze of harvest rivered from the fields...


COUNTING MY MONEY
everything is halved...


ASTERS
radiance common heartleaved...


LOVE IS CRAZY, ART IS LONG
there was this one that one...


COME A TIME
endless elegies laid foot to forehead...


MR. RENSBERGER'S EXACT MEASUREMENTS
keep changing...


PERSEPHONE
amongst the dark columns...


WHICH WAY IS BEST?
here steep there boggy moved every which way...


MILK BEER WATER
in the beginning it was milk milk milk...


GONE TO HEAVEN
at how many funerals...


1/28/08
as daylight does the dark...


DAN MCKIBBEN
sunny window bay in the kitchen...


MUSIC TO MY EYES
snowy baroque ...


TO MYSELF
a page bent...


MY OWN TIME
there was it could be imagined...


2/26/08
if I step outside for even a few minutes ...


ONE THOUGHT YIELDS TO ANOTHER
whatever evolution is...


LAST OF WINTER (FIRST TRY)
as the days bend toward...


LAST OF WINTER (SECOND TRY)
a man is a fire in the world...


TRUE NATURE
after the dark is dark...


WHO MADE IT
if I am in my labors...

REMINDER


Last summer I looked for the bridge whose enormous piers cast the
swirl of water in the river where Hobie Johnson drowned. Found a
road that dead-ended between the railroad and the river, a track
wandering through the brush to the muddy bank, a rope hanging over
the water. But the bridge was gone, piers down, and next day over
the river I saw that even the hole in the mountainside that the
bridge led to was sealed up. The guy who owned a pizza place near
where the whole mighty thing and its traffic of trains had once
existed had saved newspaper articles and pictures of it being built
and later being made to go away. In this part of the world, every-
thing vanishes without a trace, and then the without-a-trace is
forgotten. Plug a hole, let the frail paper yellow, words blur,
the whole thing gradually crumbles. True pain and scandal once
safely in the past, we can establish some kind of tourist zone
nearby. Put the graveyard on the hill so the dead get the best
view of the whole thing, while mourners are too distracted by grief
to notice. Maybe some piece of Hobie broke off, changed form,
drifted down the river system--Ohio in its giant crease between
states, juncture with the Mississippi, Mississippi down to the
sea--experiencing the whole phenomenon of half a continent empty-
ing itself of rain, dirt, trash, the question of origins forgotten,
that piece of Hobie lost forever in the Gulf.