287.
When it caught me I was the meadow
but we all have a right to that green
place
where every flower is a telephone to
hell
because the colors we see so
variously are the mind of somewhen else
far away right beneath our feet
or did you Lady beneath our skin
where the shining trumpets blaze drums
dare to touch
is it there or is it there
of course the land I mean is someone
else
right here if only I’d stop talking
if only you would speak
saddest of all songs white-throated
sparrows’.
288.
Coming to feeling
no one knows what a word means in the
mouth of the other
this is axiomatic not even the skin
knows
who touched me? for I felt the power
reaching out from me
touch heals but who or whom
what does the skin know of touch
intention or accident love or scorn
the earth is blue
that’s all we knew
enough to be a pirate in a sea of
talk
stand by your word until it falls
bury it not on the fertile prairie
bury it in language that café
full cup the church most godly.
