ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 3
IN INDIANA
dogwood holds out its hands palms upward
on the fingertips bright red berries are shining
the cedar keeps a green secret of perfume
for its dead branches to evade corruption
the sumac tops itself with flames
that slowly darken into hard nuts
we have forgotten to eat
I wait for the hour that opens your eyes
the minute my call can go the wires
that unite the Midwest
its prairies its remnants of forest
its recollections of glaciers and oceans
your child is busy all her friends
have become invisible and penetrate the walls
of vast fields of apartments and still
heart aches with loneliness arms
enclose an emptiness without a shape
my weather comes inside for a rest
and the rocker leans back of its own accord
when this stretch of time is complete
all the words we have been gathering
all our lives will burst into scores our fingers
penetrate like music and fish will rise
from stones at the roots of dogwood cedar sumac