ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
WITHOUT KINDNESS
on its stalk the corn flames towards the mouth above
the sky turns white a roof of bone
there are journeys of wandering farther that go on
day and night beyond your mind's reach
a touch that falls short of the hand that wants to give it
dawn spreads its hair on the sky's edge a pillow
that is hard enough there is no rest there
night has followed its tossing through an opening
the traveller will never follow
the travel and the rest are shared with no one
no meal no cooling drink suffices or can restore
that man has no welcome ahead of him
he has gone on past where going on can stop
he cannot remember how to open himself to shelter
or to another's hand pausing as it moves
startling to feel if only it were kind