ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
ABOUT TO SIT DOWN
Stepping out the back door
and watching snow settle
bright gleaming on the woodpile,
the backwards and forwards
looking guy smells smoke,
and the color of the leaf-covered
ground comes up into his eyes.
Daylight is going to bed in
the dirt, and snowflakes follow it
as far down as they can. The backwards
and forwards looking guy
is about to sit down and remember
all the snows he can and imagine
the ones to come. He leans back
in the rocker and releases,
his weight impelling its own motion
the other way. If my youth
were a summer pasture I'd be in
a migration now toward
the lower slopes, just ahead of winter.
He sniffs his own smoke and
thinks I'm burning too
but slowly enough
to be good for me.