Something sent me back and forth across the room,
I didn't find what I looked for, I didn't know what it
was, why did I have to move.
The clarity of the image. I can cease talking at the
dinner table. The two things are not related, but I do
not know what to say. In the visual world
I can see them trudging up the hill, I have never been concerned with the pressure of sounds.
There was a long time in silence. For myself, I can tell
you that certain things give me limited pleasure for
short stretches of time.
But I do not know where to put them, they are sure to
die, later than I, being metal or wood, broken hinges
and chipped, the horses step on them, how far can they
be thrown and pounded.
"Beauty is so rare thing." He is weak as I hold his arm
he leans on me as we walk by the ocean. We forgive you
for never giving him the gift he wanted. He died in the
park, out over the ocean he talked of music, it is him
I like the best.
I shall not do that again.
- Joanne Kyger