ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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16 17 18 19 20

  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 15

LATE SUMMER BEES
a creek of broken stones...


EVERYBODY'S UP BY 6:00 BUT ME
light wind moving overhead...


THE KILL
heap of fawn...


THE AFTER-ETERNITY
the western wind has passed...


WALKING
my steps each one marking...


ADVENTURE
pebble your adventure...


FUTURES PAST
these days a strange dark...


10/10/06
one squirrel less...


A THEORY OF LINES
wind bent by the objects it surrounds...


LAST CRICKET
in the hickory's crown...


AN EQUATION
Our minds are formed for a place where no one is stricken, where...


12/7/06
across the last dark of night...


IT IS
a hundred-year walk to the moon...


BLACKSNAKES
They get to be four, five, six feet long quite commonly. No poison...


TURN OF THE YEAR
near the house a trash...


FORGOTTEN
I remember a world...


LIE BACK
the curved moon lies back...


untitled
a cold rain...


IN ANSWER TO THE REPEATED QUESTION
I spoke my name out loud many times...


HIDDEN BEHIND BELOW
the courthouse square almost empty...


WALKING HERE
my feet said my shoes...


SEVEN DEER
earth in your determined ring...


TO SPEAK OF REAL WEATHER
white hands of water...


SOME WRITING
with gaping wounds...


DREADNIGHT
those few still awake are hidden...


MY CONDITION
the small white moths...


WORLD IN LOVE WITH ITSELF
all motion is one motion...


6/22/07
in the field of shadows...


solitude motionless
my hands stronger...


EVASIVE APOLOGY
I am sorry for all the ones...


PRAYER
...


JUST BETWEEN FRIENDS
a day any day...


untitled
hard verse that will not leave...


8/25/07
the day between two wings...


TO A BUZZARD
cousin...


A MYSTERY
one bird's anxious calling...


STORAGE
blaze of harvest rivered from the fields...


COUNTING MY MONEY
everything is halved...


ASTERS
radiance common heartleaved...


LOVE IS CRAZY, ART IS LONG
there was this one that one...


COME A TIME
endless elegies laid foot to forehead...


MR. RENSBERGER'S EXACT MEASUREMENTS
keep changing...


PERSEPHONE
amongst the dark columns...


WHICH WAY IS BEST?
here steep there boggy moved every which way...


MILK BEER WATER
in the beginning it was milk milk milk...


GONE TO HEAVEN
at how many funerals...


1/28/08
as daylight does the dark...


DAN MCKIBBEN
sunny window bay in the kitchen...


MUSIC TO MY EYES
snowy baroque ...


TO MYSELF
a page bent...


MY OWN TIME
there was it could be imagined...


2/26/08
if I step outside for even a few minutes ...


ONE THOUGHT YIELDS TO ANOTHER
whatever evolution is...


LAST OF WINTER (FIRST TRY)
as the days bend toward...


LAST OF WINTER (SECOND TRY)
a man is a fire in the world...


TRUE NATURE
after the dark is dark...


WHO MADE IT
if I am in my labors...

Listen!


VISITING T.C. STEELE'S HOUSE IN THE RAIN


I.

the trees have had time
to approach the painter's house
and grow large
they have taken away his view
but so has death
and death was never cut down
in his time or ours

his wife's gardens have been copied
by the employees of the state
and under this dull sky
they make earth brighter than heaven

on a rock in one of them
I saw a garter snake looking at me
and wishing I would go
so the frogs would come out


II.

the studio sits just off the peak of the hill
looking like a barn under its hip roof

they let the varnish on the paintings dull
but keep the dust off his brushes

gift shop in the back his work on the walls
examples of the two hands he worked with

a smooth hand for flattering sitters
a rough hand for pleasing himself

one hand plus the other equalled happiness
one made a living (guess which)

one showed the long vistas he lived among
and nearer by the scrubbiness and brilliance

living out in the country brings home to you
his chickens posed for him under the trees

morning light slant on the pecked-bare dirt
also the oak still there a hundred years later

the old woman my guide asks how I make my living
by listening to troubles I say

thinking of my own just now thank god not great
leaving I drop five dollars in the donation box

and put up the hood on my raincoat so
I am equal to the rain ready to go for a walk


III.

from the cabin below the house
I follow the trail of silences
whose name is true
the streams it crosses
make a little noise
but between one and the other
a different silence each time

up the hill again panting
stopping for breath I see
a doe grazing on the grass
covering the family graves
she runs from smelling me