ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

sequence #
1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10
11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20

  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 14

GOOD QUESTION
why do I write all the time ...


SOME MILLERSBURG
of your own ...


8/24/05
the dusk comes out and takes the woods...


untitled
lifting a light to help itself ...


BLACK AND GREEN
on state road four you came down...


SEEN FROM ABOVE
and without the distraction of time...


GROCERIES
when you think you see...


I TELL YOU HOW TO GET THERE
and what it's like...


A LONG LINE
at night in the sky...


SEPTEMBER, 2005
huddled masses...


THIS TIME OF YEAR
walking early out ...


LIVING HERE
on this tail end of white river water...


11/14/05
my nails hurt from the cold ...


untitled
on the track made ...


untitled
I kept a ...


untitled
my cold clothes ...


OUR HOUSES
the town the fields the woods...


A POEM AS A PILE OF STICKS
poetry is where I have not been before...


ALSO
the flames sweep upward...


ON NOT SLEEPING
here on the less end ...


THE MIDDLE OF MY LIFE
when I reached the middle of my life ...


untitled
the guillotine cause and effect ...


1/18/06
the future of one day...


SLEPT
rain fed a fire in the roots ...


POEM
widow...


WET ALL DAY
this cold rain is our earth's ...


ALL DOGS TO GET NEW LEASH
wet when it's wet...


NIGHT/SEA
staring into the night as into a sea...


2/6/06
wood coming today ...


BEND
when I take in hand...


WORK
my books bend under the weight ...


untitled
of the world ...


PEACE
late afternoon...


THEFT OF A LINE FROM OPPEN
return ...


I HAVE GAINED NOTHING I HAVE LOST NOTHING
new moon sliver ...


2/27/06
our disobedient worries ...


MANY DAYS RAIN
driving carefully on ...


THOUGHTS
my second thoughts ...


THEFT OF LINES FROM KHLEBNIKOV
the gouges in the sides ...


TO MY BAD HABITS
when I see you I think of myself ...


ON MY READING LIST THERE IS
a history of funerals so well-written...


WRITING AT NIGHT
its chief object ...


5/24/06
chilly mornings with bright sun ...


WORSHIPPING (WITHOUT GOD)
hands clasped weight on the knees ...


STATE FOREST
the trail through deep woods in a long slope ...


MY BED OF ROSES
on my bed of roses ...


4 A.M. LIGHT SO BRIGHT IT WOKE ME
old moon ...


MAN OF DREAMS
dusk ...


untitled
into the war...


NOT OURS
rain ...


untitled
passion over ...


IMAGINATION IMAGINATION IMAGINATION
earth floats higher...


6/21/06
the sun at noon ...


NOSTALGIA
the rain is an empty city ...


SELF-PORTRAIT (WITHOUT MY FACE)
ambivalent about irony...


LOOKING
blue backs and forked tails ...


7/28/06
first bat and first star...


DRIVING ON THE NARROW ROAD
off to one side this open hill ...


UNLIFTABLE
under all the alasses shadowing me ...


VISIT TO THE CEMETERY
over by the road the careless ...


HOW FAR
built on the water waking ...


FIVE THOUGHTS BEFORE SLEEP
the sand the shore moved...


AWAY LIKE WE WANTED
above the trees ...


WE KNOW THIS
The dead are sleepless, we know this, they need no rest. With ...


INNER WORLD
the river rich in me ...


WITHOUT KINDNESS
on its stalk the corn flames towards the mouth above ...

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