AND WE STOOD TALL

After the distractions of luck, there are always
possibilities on the table. The light doesn’t seem to go,
the days almost Arctic in length. They will never see
that the basement of words is the silent headlight
out on the interstate, and it keeps us linked. I run and run
and it’s grassland again; that is a time
when you put them all together: a haunted dream,
a period of art, my own hand, and my grandfather’s 97th birthday.

The river was long ago cut by the still trees
outside my window, but you can see
it won’t unlock everything. And there are always
possibilities in the storm. I will be better off by myself.

(June 29, 2011)