ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 4

ABOUT TO SIT DOWN
Stepping out the back door...


KISS HIS EAR
Brown corn bends as...


STALLING OUT
Just by getting enough distance...


PAGE ZERO
my mind's blank wall...


PARTING
words just off...


CRICKETS HESITATE
the night...


FROM AND TO
my first eternity...


IN THIS LITTLE POEM OR WORLD
I mislaid my travel plans the map...


FIELD GUIDE
indigo bunting no words...


untitled
I knew...


I STAY UP LATE
studying to live...


POEM OF EXPOSURE
the tender outcry...


untitled
underground I'll turn to you...


THEFT OF A LINE FROM TATE
I consider it a citizen's duty...


STANDING STILL IN
november...


HOW I TRAPPED THE MURDERER
I left out the part...


PROVERB
he who sleeps a false sleep...


A SUNDAY NIGHT SERMON FOR DAVID BAKER
The first step is to listen,...


I AM PART BUZZARD
my grandmother was a buzzard...


DEAR FUCKHEADS
my head hurts...


TILL IT THAWS
1....


RESOLUTION
I am so glad...


EVENING POEM
in the cellar...


DISTURBANCE
the world is alive...


FLIGHT
the gamblers...


VISIT
Buying toys, the one remaining copy...


STORM
in trouble again...


JUST AFTER DAWN
We sat among the cattle and he asked me ...


INTERPRETATION
Hour begets hour, dream begets dream,...


THE BUZZARD SPEAKS
I am proud...


INTERRUPTION
not knowing what to say...


JOSEPH'S POEM
if you wish to own a fear...


DIS-ORDER
of course...


BLUE MILLION
in the house dark...


untitled
blank pages spit their silence...


BROKEN POEM
life goes through...


AUTOBIOGRAPHY VOL. II
the day before my birth...


MARENGO
the pressure of seasons...


TODAY
awoke in the forest...

FROM THE TRAIN


Tom, when the red light blinking
warns the horizon is going off,
dive for cover. When the children
of ignorance curse morning,
bury yourself in the mountains

and come out by the sea.
Gulls belly the waves or cry
their hunger like wares for sale
in the street. Swallows have nothing
for coin except their flashy dives.
To the seals, it's all a circus

anyway, especially the people,
crossing and recrossing on the laden
ferries, inexhaustible. A circle of sticks
in the sand of an ancient ceremony
waits for you, as it did for me.
Sails wave like hands
above blue welcome.

When the train headed East
takes on night, close your eyes
and reach for your heart. In Montana,
rising clouds are called fallen clouds, and no matter
how fast you spin, some piece
of horizon is always watching
the back of your head. Distance
and silence are the same, did I tell you?

So I come back to you
by the mile and by the word.
I call you my fallen cloud,
so you will rise and hover
just over my head, close
enough to touch. When the rain
comes down like a long-awaited traveller,
open your eyes like lightening and your hands
like cups that want at once to be full.