I find I am found in the middle of thoughts
I wouldn’t expect in me. I know my eyes
Are mine, my hands as well, and I keep them with me
As I fit between the day and sky. Inside,
I imagine my life, and find I am
Alive in these sudden rushes of spring wind through
The car window as if
Behind my breathing a teenage feeling ends.
A teenage feeling brushes back my skin.
Everywhere I go things are settling down.
People act as if just now is an invention,
As if seasons end not to circle round
A thought, not to each in its nostalgia drop
Songs I knew first the words were lost.
I knew my thoughts but was interested in thoughts
I didn’t know. The time
I found my voice in a corner of a park past
Where a thicket bent branches, I echoed forward
Opening onto what I hadn’t
Planned as if I planned
A meadow where I might in my own weather
Head home with a chill between my hands and say,
He who wants my thought I put him out of doubt.
As well as I can circle all my days.
As well as I can think of what I’ve bought.
As well as I can feel my face in the sun’s rays.
My thoughts are at the door for what I owe,
I’d hand it over but I’m not my own.
Here’s a story I tell when my wind voice rains,
When death lingering in the flower bush
Scents a cocktail I like on the plane, if you listen
And you know me, how I circle round
Humming what I say not in
Some friendly way, my words over and over
Hold the corners of an order from the bottom
Of the stairwell to the part you’re hunting for.
A story I’d tell if my rain voice would end.
If I could take myself inside and turn the sound loud.
If I could know I was alone then I’d relent,
And sit in my chair looking like I just found out
A story I could tell when I had nothing left to hear.
A story like a star burning out my ears.
My heart escapes me. I don’t know what to say.
I don’t collapse into whatever
Pollen has settled on the white paint of
My porch swing slats
Where I sit with my belly, a bell in the air.
The world hangs before my eyes,
The universe, its thickness,
I range, in my depth, until the right
Desire plucks me from this state—wild air
Catches my eye everywhere like flower pots
Falling out of windows. The days line up
Until they lose definition, round down to
A horn sounding blocks
Away, unsure as fingers I touch fingers to at any rate.
I love the trees when they are patient.
In a world filled with places, I plot
And my head fills with what I’ve planned.
I more more do and spit. I spit. I spit
On the concrete while blue. I find words
Real beautiful. I use them over
The porch, green and sweet,
Orange then, then red back in my car.
A car-made wind takes me now I’m young.
Breathing, my place is full of breath,
A summer month folded out my chest. Words
Fall down and around
Like hair in wind, while I circle a parking lot.
I breeze. I blur. I won’t pull into any spot.
I know these clever little movements break
Something open, but I prefer
Grand things in the air surfaces roofs
Sunlight, which hits upon me.
I am casual.
I don’t interact with every thought. I have my work
In the dirt,
Grasses I pull from weeds yet blooming.
I lose the sun in winds that drift and tilt
Above me. They
Lift me to say tomorrow
Where I see the back of my head. I say
Where I put my eyes my work is done. I roll
My body into garden holes I’ve dug.
The world is charged with faces bright as wings
On a bird lifting to a street sign, while screams of
I don’t know when to do what
Are where I can’t find them with
My eyes. Eastward stream petals
I happened to have sat among, or trod
Where my foot can feel, can feel, can feel if
Not for how my foot’s been spent.
The world is well, and I brood the deep down face
I make, the one I explain
When I do what, when I do what when
I thought I was expected to. Each time
I find the exact same place. I’m very fine.
The world is light and full of grace.
I had a feeling on the face of it a song.
This was in the yard.
Grasses in the wind, passing like the sun
Every morning. Every morning, all
Fresh with the bottom
Coffee of the cup, cool like an acid.
It leaves me.
I had a feeling flutter trees on the face it stops.
I had a feeling alright. I was the tree pieces,
And the wind that brought them
News of a new shadow, a feeling the grasses sat
Tip on end. It was an end. I lay wasted,
Until morning over the afternoon traced
An evening about my face in the blades.