Mildly Depressed, Far From Home, I Go Outside For Awhile
Bare yard trees, bare story line,
Unseasonable season,
new moon
Diving hard right with the old moon stuck like a stone in her throat,
Down to November’s 5 o’clock dingle and dark blue,
Sly script-bearer, silly fish,
Buried beneath our being like a splinter unlodgable.
Starry night, cold stars of memory
Like floe tips on the black river.
How wide the world was,
How sweet the Orphean song,
How close the trees were then to the eddies of heaven.
I have taken my ease here long enough,
late autumn,
Late middle age, what am I waiting for?
May that which is dear to me come back,
and come back unto me,
Now boundless, now inexpressible.
Page(s) 63
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