ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 18

SURVIVAL
Survive the summer, crumbs of dead leaves dropped by the...


THE DREAM OF LAST NIGHT
dreamt of rain...


INHERITANCE
you are heir to a hidden philosophy...


LAST DAYS OF SUMMER
the long dry spell weakens everything...


THE HARVEST
late afternoon...


A MAN
as I left there stood a man...


TIMES/STEPS/FUTURE/TRADE
the times I saw...


untitled
blank page: no wreck yet...


OUR NEIGHBORHOOD THE UNIVERSE
a black hole is empty...


A SQUIRREL MAKES A MEAL OF ACORNS
it looks up and sees...


THE DIVER
the tomb lid sketch a naked man his body arched...


MY FIT
my old clothes carry my old shape...


12/31/10
will I be silenced? yes...


DRIVING BY
a field of crows in winter...


LOSS AND GAIN
the wind that took...


MY INQUIRY
do you piss first thing when you get up...


THREE QUESTIONS
the last cold night passed...


HEMLOCK BLUFFS ONCE AGAIN
along the ridge...


NEWS
somewhere peace has begun...


untitled
we are always...


MY ENVIRONMENT MINUS ME
looks around...


THE WORLD WE ARE NOT IN
the known world...


WORLD NEWS
everything is a containment vessel...


BORROWED THEME
leaf lying there...


3/18/11
moon up...


IN THE HIERARCHY OF POETS
I attempt to find my place...


BEGIN HERE
the light inches forward...


MORE
the old: as they shrink...


WHAT IT IS
something has chosen me for its disguise...


FOLLOW
the one who disguised himself as rain--...


MORNINGS LIKE THIS
inside me...


NIGHT
the spatter on the boards...


TO REASON
I love you because I am not like you...


TO THOSE OF A DISTANT PLANET
there as here...


ERIC RENSBERGER
The date and cause of his death are unknown to the present...


BETWEEN STORMS
the sparrow's hop...


REPORTING ON MYSELF
who tried hardest with me?...


HERE
Here where the alleys cross all the ground has been asphalted...


MY DISASTER PLAN
I will write about it...


WHAT WE HAVE
one sky becomes another...


I RECALL A JUNE DAY IN THE FIFTIES
brief as any...


5/30/11
the wind-felled trees piled in the open...


AFTER EASILY
I take with me ...


EARLY HEAT WAVE
the new moon takes its pincers...


I DON'T LOOK AT PHOTOGRAPHS
so there's no way I'll be inspired...


OF STONE, STONE
to speak of stone...


PURSUIT
the zodiacal beasts bounding...


WE HAVE TO PROCEED CAUTIOUSLY
no one else must ever know what...


INSTANT
lightning that touches earth...


untitled
one stone with one name...


A UNIVERSE
upward is more or less forever...


YELLOW CREEK
each spring the plowing...


LEAVES AND RAIN
the leaves in the wind make a sound like rain...


LISTENING TO A TRAVELER
there you go in the dark...


THE LOSERS
when the bud can no longer strain against...


MY FATHER'S GRADUATION PORTRAIT
your youth faded far more swiftly...


POEM NOT DONE
two thirds...


THE PRESENT MOMENT
overall I'd have to say...


ORCHESTRAL ACCOMPANIMENT
the cicadas' strict song...


HOPE
Never easy in his mind, that man still keeps hoping. It's true:...


AT THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT
a narrow street comes to mind...

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