ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
FROM THE TRAIN
Tom, when the red light blinking
warns the horizon is going off,
dive for cover. When the children
of ignorance curse morning,
bury yourself in the mountains
and come out by the sea.
Gulls belly the waves or cry
their hunger like wares for sale
in the street. Swallows have nothing
for coin except their flashy dives.
To the seals, it's all a circus
anyway, especially the people,
crossing and recrossing on the laden
ferries, inexhaustible. A circle of sticks
in the sand of an ancient ceremony
waits for you, as it did for me.
Sails wave like hands
above blue welcome.
When the train headed East
takes on night, close your eyes
and reach for your heart. In Montana,
rising clouds are called fallen clouds, and no matter
how fast you spin, some piece
of horizon is always watching
the back of your head. Distance
and silence are the same, did I tell you?
So I come back to you
by the mile and by the word.
I call you my fallen cloud,
so you will rise and hover
just over my head, close
enough to touch. When the rain
comes down like a long-awaited traveller,
open your eyes like lightening and your hands
like cups that want at once to be full.