ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 4
THESE POEMS
a poem for any day of the year
a poem only for today
loitering in the mind where they home
they call out to one another
across a rift of time
or through the rooms of a history
built too big for comfort
the improprieties of one
are the proprieties of the other
they are each other's ghosts
passing through each other's bodies amazed
if one could fill up the other
it would overflow and move on to
no one knows where
afterward mud from the bottom
would be seen coating the highest branches
and if we speak only of the day of these poems
what could we say of their night?