I say: "let the heavens do as they will.
Let the beach sand break up and
sift to the bottom.
The trees shall grow,
the trash will grow,
the mildew in the shower
will grow."

We agree that the reins of this carriage
command a hefty charge.

The baker knows it when
a cake falls;
the barber when
he tilts the scalp one way
but the face works another.
The painter knows it in drips.
The parent in profane utterances
and the patient in pain.

Nature knows it in
lean winter tracks
between wisping and willful.

So, let's walk a while and talk
(as you step notice cracks)
and observe the roadside weeds
like shavings of a metal lathe;
let the afternoon go unplanned,
I want to know what you know
when you have told yourself.

Yet, Even trees have bony faces to hide.

Make a sound deep in your chest.

Creep out your window at night.

Glide on a glass table

in your own 50 yeald old film.

Be a hero if heoism has currency

in your field of terrors.

In the corner
is a tiny table an chair.
Sit, enjoy a cool drink
and survey what you see.
Some of these women only
"do Kennedys."