Not a Vague Province
Where I am very early in the morning
Waking to the quietest hum, no matter
How often do you come here?
Every time I do (dance, dance, dance, drink, drink)
too far to walk, an hour for a cab
Passing a bottle of tequila
Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens
When I bring my friend coffee in bed
where wild fennel grows along the road
collecting it one startles a sleeping deer.
How long do you stay?
Until I leave
leaves fall and stay fallen
I extended my stay in one place
happens exactly the same
At the airport
a place where nothing
“Where were you?”
Exiting the parking garage, $5 due, the attendant says
paper wraps rock
(I lived three years in an enclave)
I tip the attendant a dollar
and we’ll dance all night long.
In middle-of-the-night open and empty aisles
What time of year.
Time of time
a full round of counting up and down the light
reds or greens
place makes more time, or less,
getting there and back
No place without its weather
A cello player in an open plaza
One place became forever summer holiday
allergy, slumber, single bloom
a place where all this happens.
How long did it take you to get here.
In the house where I was small
recently arriving at a different “here”
a long time coming
On the first day
A series of stops and starts and occasional
A fence down the middle makes two smaller places
The sign said No Trespassing
The traffic acting exactly like a charged sky
then a silence like something sucking up all the sound
The brilliant scarlet sunset that led me outside
an effect of a devastating forest fire yesterday
After the crashaccident walking away
everyone calling to me, saying it was too far to walk
and I kept walking.
How did you travel.
Well and by foot
the body not flailing while falling
I came to know a new here by walking it
Forty months traveling within the same city
And again a crash, a crash at the intersection
Cars, on the ground, so close together
in stopped traffic I look up to see
in rooms I’m not daydreaming, I’m looking out the window
From above, my hand large beside a mountain range
In a place sometimes wronged by drought
I felt right as rain
on this block, no church interrupting the sun
next block, instead of grass
raised a little off the earth
sometimes, again, a crash then nothing
then, again, right as rain
some things living where they fall.
Return to Volume 5.2
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