I took it home and read it. I thought it was good.
There is a story you hear that touches the heart some day
So you add, my heart, the centerpiece.
Not the shell of which we are told,
A landscape to some, a rope dangling
In a chasm. No, a day, the same day.
We should not know
The mitigating circumstances,
In which blizzard the welcoming gesture
Stuck, to be seen only at the next-to-last minute,
And that through rivers of translucence.
For all sober and natural empathy with
The common way that comes to bother us
Every day, you have a search warrant.
And you are happy and too fair-minded
To let accidents happen, even at night
In the glass garage of a dream, for so
We were conditioned, and must have promised
The first host to keep them narrative,
A plan beyond becoming. Yes, you are too faithful.
It is dangerous to stay here now.
But you do, years beyond the last date anyone heard of you.
Is it true that you wait for me in the arbor,
By the vine-clad wall? Then to be real we must sit and
Live in our new discovery. It must have been
The picnic that got lost. This is all sunlight,
A thick foundation from which to hear the flood,
As we bend almost to despair. Then time catches us.
June 2, 1983