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: 16

SPRING WET
so much rain...


WHAT WE FOUND
as held in a mouth...


READ RELAX WRITE
bees stumble out...


AGREEMENT
The cabdriver walking home from his ...


CALLING CROW
his wings keep moving...


untitled
the wood door held open in my hand...


REAL APRIL
what we call reality is a...


GARDENING NOTES
the opening where...


THE POEM
I was thinking standing at the top of the hill...


THREE RELATED POEMS
the moon's "clear fields"...


untitled
let me know what it's like...


HERE FILL THIS PART OUT
and I'll fill in the rest...


7/30/08
mud my friend from youth...


LIVING THINGS GIVE BACK WHAT THEY GATHER
grassy field seen through the tree stems...


LISTENING TO THE STORM
water...


THE WAY
feet on the way that flutters before us...


THE SAME
the earth has borrowed everything...


8/10/08
the worrying approaches of a hurricane or a birthday...


8/20/08
the marks on us...


THANKS TO THE MAKERS OF CUNEIFORM
the damp clay you marked...


FIRE
when and if the sparks...


USEFUL
the tremor is useful for mixing things...


A SINGLE CLOUD IN A DRY SEASON
the cloud passing east at sunset...


EARLY HOUR READING
the cicadas have been singing all night...


"ABOVE US ONLY SKY"
at night the activity...


ACCEPTS
summer comes to rest...


untitled
the rush of air overhead as I sleep...


MOONLIGHT
light streaming in every window...


ALLEGORICAL SCENE
the translators...


ME WALKING IN NATURE
Looking in all directions, no one to be seen: I am alone. Here ...


ME AND IT
I decide to set it aside for a few days...


TRILLION
bewilderment in the trillions...


10/10/08
no pride no complaints...


10/10/08, ALSO
three quarter moon...


WRITING WITH THE COLD HAND
a couple of pages back:...


HOW I'M THINKING NOW
half the day spent avoiding...


COMPARING
the way the trembling travels through me...


2/26/09
I don't have to try hard to act as though...


THESE POEMS
a poem for any day of the year ...


DESIRE
The circumference of the earth now widened enormously, a new...


I WATCH
a fire of dead branches...


ALL OF OUR LIFE IS TO REPEAT
all of our life is to repeat...


I INVESTIGATE
having touched many things...


I WAKE BEFORE DAWN
again...


SOMEONE WHISPERS IN THE EMPEROR'S EAR
and he knows what to say next...


TO AN ANT DROWNED IN HONEY
how gold...


THE LOWER AND THE HIGHER
when the lower lifts ...


EPISODE FROM A NARRATIVE
their morning...


WHAT HAS BEEN DONE
every stroke went through my hand first...


TRAVELS WITH
all of you take me with you...


THEFT OF A LINE FROM MERWIN
that hand moving a touch towards me...


WAS I
I had been beautiful once...


FAIR TRADE
the creek crossing under the road...


SAYINGS
all these roads bent here as if finding their reason lose it...


PARALLEL LIVES
oh ye of little wings...


SUMMARY TO THIS POINT
age a point...


MUSICIAN
the voice he has...

HOPE

Never easy in his mind, that man still keeps hoping. It's true:
the great keep wealth and power to themselves, liars prosper
because we love to hear a lie, each of us who fears another is 
feared by someone else, and we're all absolutely right to fear:
none is trustworthy. "So what is there to hope for?" That's not
the point. Justice, kindness, and peace of mind are meant for 
the realm of imagination, not for here. There, all sleep is pure 
and beautiful, the days are harmonious and even-paced. We would 
not fit in. The animals of that place would attack us as 
strangers who do not know how to treat them. We are of this
place, that always breeds some "next" from its "before". A tree
whose roots fail and branches fall is drilled with holes, some
featheration gets busy there, coos its tune from the opening,
eggs are begun. When one shade is struck down, the sunlight 
falling on the earth draws up another out of the seedlings. It's 
not so much that in this place everything exists in time, it's 
that time is in us, all of us, trees and rocks and airs included.
That man never easy in his mind doesn't really hope for help
coming from the hills or plains, seas or mountains--what he 
calls "hope" is time moving through him and leaving a trace he
can feel and must embody in an image of what has not yet come.