ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 4
REAL REMEMBRANCE
the wind as the weather changes
there mighty
and soon here and mighty too
too long for the plains to contain
working like fingers over the curvature of the land
probing without knowing why it probes
I think of the small tree I saw every sunday
across the road from our church
in my mind its shape is bent and curved
from standing alone at the top of its little hump of dirt
we would call a hill
and on the head it barely raised
possibly I remember a covering of flowers
thrown in spring in the warm wind
all down the side of the hill
to splash against the stone markers
in the graveyard
and did I dream it or just now envision
or did it actually happen that sometimes
a name was blown off a stone
and came tumbling at us across the lawn
as we left through the double doors after services
us so few and now mainly dead
and me no longer there
I think I recall how I got here
it feels
I am pressed by the wind
into the box of wood I live in