ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 20

untitled
you know who...


THE GREAT WORKS
Reading one of the Great Works that you find annoying, you ...


SILENCE/WORLD
the silence is never a silence...


FRIGHTENED BY MY BOOKS AGAIN
they have in them many words to read...


12/13/12
the squrrels' efforts...


THIS LIFE
less led than lost...


FIRST SNOW
one might imagine Adam...


12/26/12
the wind moves along...


NOTES TO BEGIN WITH
noon on new year's day...


AFTERTHOUGHT
silence...


UNDERSTANDING EACH OTHER
the word for food...


STILLED FOREVER
the body of a mouse...


A CYCLOPS EXPLAINS TO A STRANGER POLYPHEMUS' HOWLS
every so often one of us here goes crazy ...


CONTINUATION
even zero has a hard time with nothing...


REGISTERED
from some abandoned clock comes...


DRIVER
are you still driving...


ABOUT THE FAMOUS COUNTRY
the leaves cover it...


NOT YET
not yet ready to write you...


A THOUGHT
the alley floor is cracked...


2/23/13
last weeks of winter...


REPETITION
those who in their agony of loss...


WAYS HE TRAVELS
the hastening traveler panting along the ways...


PERHAPS POSSIBLE
watch ...


STORM FORECAST
moss light under trees...


REPITITION II
die of grief make another grief...


ONLY AT NIGHT
only at night can I really see...


I KNOW WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE
the trembling you see...


REPITITION III
make another grief...


THE READER
the pages I turn sketch...


WONDERFUL
at the doctor's office...


LANDSCAPE WITH TWO MEN
in dark clothes walking over the year's...


REPETITION IV
...


4/29/13
barely light...


EVEN SO
a picture of least importance...


SAYING MORE
cold air on my skin as it leaves me alert pleases...


NEWS
the shamed man...


5/26/13
a penny drops on the floor...


IT RIDDLES
it isn't memory...


STORY
limbs of the tree gone astray...


JUST TO BE CLEAR
nothing wants to know...


SEEING
rain-centered region...


COMPARE AND CONTRAST
there is never just one crow...


I STILL ACHE
the little things said...


THE DIFFERENCE
an off-white sky...


PLAYING AGAIN
a store of chords held in the fingers laid...


THE TOWN
the town with its mildly hilly north side...


TO YOU
if it often seems...


IN TIME
to arrive in time with some of what you've packed...


HIS INTENTION
He left, lying where I would be sure to see it, a little written...


1937
the Ohio in flood...


STONE SYMPATHY
this large rock in the abandoned field...


ANOTHER KIND OF WIND I REMEMBER
the whirlwinds that used to come...


DREAMS
That was childhood, when I believed anyone could fly if they ...


WHAT THEY BUILD AND WHERE
they build their cities on the plain...


A PARTICULAR HEAVEN
after the end...


BORDERLANDS
In some of the places where boundaries meet there can be a ...


WHAT IT KNOWS
an invisible warning...


WHAT IF YOU WERE THAT MAN IN THE MIRROR?
no thoughts or feelings within you...


IRONY WATER
the irony water I drank in youth...


MY LIFE DOES THE MATH
my life poorer by a day...

HOPE

Never easy in his mind, that man still keeps hoping. It's true:
the great keep wealth and power to themselves, liars prosper
because we love to hear a lie, each of us who fears another is 
feared by someone else, and we're all absolutely right to fear:
none is trustworthy. "So what is there to hope for?" That's not
the point. Justice, kindness, and peace of mind are meant for 
the realm of imagination, not for here. There, all sleep is pure 
and beautiful, the days are harmonious and even-paced. We would 
not fit in. The animals of that place would attack us as 
strangers who do not know how to treat them. We are of this
place, that always breeds some "next" from its "before". A tree
whose roots fail and branches fall is drilled with holes, some
featheration gets busy there, coos its tune from the opening,
eggs are begun. When one shade is struck down, the sunlight 
falling on the earth draws up another out of the seedlings. It's 
not so much that in this place everything exists in time, it's 
that time is in us, all of us, trees and rocks and airs included.
That man never easy in his mind doesn't really hope for help
coming from the hills or plains, seas or mountains--what he 
calls "hope" is time moving through him and leaving a trace he
can feel and must embody in an image of what has not yet come.