ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20

  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...

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