Fall Routes
Bricks may well be one form of selection
/ reverence or driving one -- in any
explored lifetime -- and being with you one form --
surrendering to grammars -- when
too much absence / too many ghosts and totems
make two homes impossible -- when
barrels and program notes share parts
in not so ordinary round-trips -- among
the beans and goldenrod / these yellow-green
sweeps -- at sixty blurred --
like notes or nowhere news -- recalling
the basements of cathedrals
and masonic theaters / the songs in every breath --
accompanied by no one but the singers --
come I suppose to billboard-wide inconsequence --
and proving how far this is -- these
crows / this white-railed fence -- restricting
the three ponies -- and these ducks
themselves -- aroused by that jugband music
( wasn't it? ) -- bringing me away
then home -- from these announcements
/ casualties -- and of
necessity to you -- to this first weekend love
there'll be no dog nearby to share us
/ no dog at waking -- stretched full length
for warmth between two sleepers --
no cragged gnawed bones / no tennis balls
below the bed's edge
where she left them -- wooed from her nap
by the moonlight's spill
and dreamers here -- ten and a half years
plus -- and sure -- to her
last breath -- as two agreed
on loving and forever.
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Fall Routes
And -- sure -- we'll be getting over this --
and over these fall routes -- over
these rituals we've made -- for many months --
our custom -- these corners
she does not come around -- these doors
she does not appear behind
on opening -- though she must have heard
someone -- but no
pond-diving / bee-snatching -- no snow-shaping
shepherd! --
stirred by scents
to the playground woods or brush-ringed water --
though surely we thought
another spring / another Christmas -- eyeing
our tree and ornaments -- the tree
returned to woods / and ( again ) the snowman
raised for her to batter -- but gone
/ but sure -- as remembering is -- still
watching -- since it's fall
it's miles / it's ( earlier ) darkness now
and pumpkin stands / porchrail
grins and gramaces / yard-lit inflatables --
this silver-lassoed moon -- above
the leaf-fire lawns and at the wood's edge --
where cider or mulled wine
warms them some -- enjoying this
nearness building
Liz / Elizabeth! -- the feel
of another Friday's
miles done.
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Fall Routes
One stupid vein artery -- worsening --
and no dog now -- waiting --
until I am up and showering -- before
she will go from the bed's edge --
or lying by my chair -- enjoying the day's
first scribbles or revisions --
no pawing / whimpering -- to find me home
and weekdays finished -- the joy
in her world whole / and her impatience
blessed another football Friday
in Ohio. And so we awake Elizabeth --
even two weeks afterward --
no dog to ask us out into the stiff grasses --
no pricked nose spattering
dog blood everywhere -- part of this course
the vet assured we could be sure of --
despite the good lungs / strong heart --
the ten years plus it took
to fit the puppy ears she could not manage --
leaving us to choose -- desiring
( of course ) another spring / another
Christmas -- while blood and time
more sure / more certain than desire --
insisted sleep -- and yes --
for us to share our own Thanksgiving
in her absence -- at every corner
sensed and asking our attention --
that we might decide / explain
/ say what this is when vision
after vision run to center --
what our depending is -- and
these eight
/ almost nine years
spent altogether.
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