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: 16

SPRING WET
so much rain...


WHAT WE FOUND
as held in a mouth...


READ RELAX WRITE
bees stumble out...


AGREEMENT
The cabdriver walking home from his ...


CALLING CROW
his wings keep moving...


untitled
the wood door held open in my hand...


REAL APRIL
what we call reality is a...


GARDENING NOTES
the opening where...


THE POEM
I was thinking standing at the top of the hill...


THREE RELATED POEMS
the moon's "clear fields"...


untitled
let me know what it's like...


HERE FILL THIS PART OUT
and I'll fill in the rest...


7/30/08
mud my friend from youth...


LIVING THINGS GIVE BACK WHAT THEY GATHER
grassy field seen through the tree stems...


LISTENING TO THE STORM
water...


THE WAY
feet on the way that flutters before us...


THE SAME
the earth has borrowed everything...


8/10/08
the worrying approaches of a hurricane or a birthday...


8/20/08
the marks on us...


THANKS TO THE MAKERS OF CUNEIFORM
the damp clay you marked...


FIRE
when and if the sparks...


USEFUL
the tremor is useful for mixing things...


A SINGLE CLOUD IN A DRY SEASON
the cloud passing east at sunset...


EARLY HOUR READING
the cicadas have been singing all night...


"ABOVE US ONLY SKY"
at night the activity...


ACCEPTS
summer comes to rest...


untitled
the rush of air overhead as I sleep...


MOONLIGHT
light streaming in every window...


ALLEGORICAL SCENE
the translators...


ME WALKING IN NATURE
Looking in all directions, no one to be seen: I am alone. Here ...


ME AND IT
I decide to set it aside for a few days...


TRILLION
bewilderment in the trillions...


10/10/08
no pride no complaints...


10/10/08, ALSO
three quarter moon...


WRITING WITH THE COLD HAND
a couple of pages back:...


HOW I'M THINKING NOW
half the day spent avoiding...


COMPARING
the way the trembling travels through me...


2/26/09
I don't have to try hard to act as though...


THESE POEMS
a poem for any day of the year ...


DESIRE
The circumference of the earth now widened enormously, a new...


I WATCH
a fire of dead branches...


ALL OF OUR LIFE IS TO REPEAT
all of our life is to repeat...


I INVESTIGATE
having touched many things...


I WAKE BEFORE DAWN
again...


SOMEONE WHISPERS IN THE EMPEROR'S EAR
and he knows what to say next...


TO AN ANT DROWNED IN HONEY
how gold...


THE LOWER AND THE HIGHER
when the lower lifts ...


EPISODE FROM A NARRATIVE
their morning...


WHAT HAS BEEN DONE
every stroke went through my hand first...


TRAVELS WITH
all of you take me with you...


THEFT OF A LINE FROM MERWIN
that hand moving a touch towards me...


WAS I
I had been beautiful once...


FAIR TRADE
the creek crossing under the road...


SAYINGS
all these roads bent here as if finding their reason lose it...


PARALLEL LIVES
oh ye of little wings...


SUMMARY TO THIS POINT
age a point...


MUSICIAN
the voice he has...

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.