ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 19

FOLLOW AS A CONSEQUENCE
the migrators...

HIS EYES
Grant shades his eyes. He can see what could happen. He knows...

AT THE SOUTH UNION CEMETERY
my shadow entangled with the other shadows...

GINSENG
a pair of golden hands...

MY PRIZES MY AWARDS MY HONORS
that reading those decades ago...

IF I HAD TO
if I had to walk...

AFTER THE SUN HAS GONE DOWN
three bright things:...

DONE
the hand strokes...

10/14/11
a fire burns fiercely...

WHAT OTHERS THINK
no longer matters...

WHOLE LIFE
day of cold rain then late afternoon...

COMMUNICATION
I pray to God as if...

CHANGES
I had hoped to be different...

OUT FROM TO
out of love of self of family of books...

3x5 SNAPSHOT
Five Buzzards on the lawn, all related to me. The black clothing...

untitled
lax...

AFTERPARTY
moon just down...

THIRST
it must be one of the spells cast on us...

12/10/11
sky and pavement both clear...

12/15/11
rain all night storming on the roof...

TO PASS THE TIME
I thought of pretending it was 35 years ago but I couldn't...

A SIDE TRIP
road but a few ride on...

THEORY OF NOTHING
afternoon...

WHILE WAITING FOR THE TEST RESULTS
you can play solitaire...

OLD WOOD
branch to branch...

TO DUST
dust I will leave you alone again...

LOCAL HISTORY
walking to the monroe county public library...

ECHO
if when following an echo...

CARRY WHAT
every extinction respects...

SHAMASH
was a name we gave to the sun...

A FIELD OF BOXES
its owner the one who lives far away...

OLD DUST ON OLD BOOKS
there really was only ever the one way home...

THE LONG STRETCH
out of those southern marshes and shores...

OLD AND NEW
I complain of my own clumsiness...

TENDER
when the fire sinks low a little stirring helps...

OBSERVATIONAL
the starvation of our time looks like...

WHAT IT IS LIKE NOW
mid-writing mid-word the one...

FEELINGS AND FACTS
The footprint left in clay today--...

AMONGST US
paper burns...

JUST ANOTHER GRAVE
distinguished as they all are...

REPORT TO MYSELF
the fevers nightly for a week...

A BOOK OF CLASSIC ERRORS
if your name is not listed...

COSMIC
the worldless water...

THIS SHINING
this life so rich with coincidence...

THE COOLDOWN
everything piled into the drought has been wiped away...

MY BED
my grandma's blind stroking of the table...

7/29/12
this summer is tougher than its trees...

untitled
there was a man walking with his bag on his back...

NIGHT SKY
in a number that makes naming unmanageable...

WHAT DO I KNOW?
years past and far away behind me...

untitled
his own language...

LESSON
the young deer in my yard...

POEM ENDING WITH WHAT I JUST ATE
record the seasons...

untitled
that boulder shrugging up...

STEPPING OUTDOORS AFTER WAKING
looking at the almost light...

10/10/12
a record of what happened...

ALMOST A YEAR SINCE MY MOTHER DIED
some restless leaves fill the air...

NEWS
new light new air the chatter...

11/1/12
this early now momentous and young...

3x5 SNAPSHOT

Five Buzzards on the lawn, all related to me. The black clothing
of the one in the middle hides all but her inscrutable face. 
Salome. Of the men, one is Doc, one is Alpha, one is John, one 
is Moses, who made popcorn for his people on the square in 
Wakarusa every Saturday. The town band playing, farmers selling 
from their wagons, children running screaming to and from the 
store with the soda fountain in back. It is full summer. A tree 
massy with leaves towers behind them, a dirt road runs nearby 
with more trees behind it thick enough to close off the horizon. 
The grass is worn where they stand, and there is a low white 
railing marking the edge of something--a parking area? a field 
where chldren play? a lot deeded to a church for a graveyard? It 
is a summer day. The weather is fine. They have survived one 
century and stand sturdily in the next. They are there on 
another day of the absence of those many who were old when they 
were young and tried to explain the exact mix of sternness and 
gentleness necessary for life. It is only a photograph, not 
reality, the present moment. But they know that, photography or 
not, any moment of the moments we've had can come back, that 
they all continue just because they once were, even if the 
snapshot is lost, the people long gone, no one to remember, no 
story to tell.


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