I went outside toight.
It was 4:30 and a glowing beam of orange had caught my eye.
I went outside to watch the sun set,
And for the first time in a year, my heart calmed itself at the sight.
I perched atop a wooden fence, six feet tall.
The sun was still shining, only red-orange, no longer yellow.
The orange flowed out in rivers over the barren land.
My house began to glow.
The brown, naked trees burned red.
The gentle, cold breeze chilled my ears, and my kitten-kin cried.
I climbed to the roof and sat facing north.
In the west, the creekbed made a gap to divide the colors:
Red-orange on gray-blue.
Light on dark.
Beauty on perfection.
The spotty snow darkened.
I turned and looked southwest.
The sun extended its wide arms as it does twice a day:
Wide, wide, surrounding half the world.
The clouds lined themselves in shining pink.
The wind drew water from my eyes.
And then, the sun bowed, and left only the glow.
Whom I want to be
is carefree and happy
And one who draws them in—
all those who never looked
And yet, if I were she,
I would be all that I despise
And they who came
would find no hint of me inside.
—1 July 1995
Ideas in English, 3rd Hour
Bob bought a car.
Bob and the car are separate.
Very obviously, to an intelligent, normal
Human, the car cannot buy Bob.
English, 3rd hour:
I would rather watch out the window
To see the dimming colors of autumn
And see the clouds hanging low.
Instead of subjects/verbs I see
A castle, surrounded green and soft
By a world unspoiled by coughing cars
Such as glide by the window.
I lean back and, drowsy, contemplate
The philosophical theology of the mind,
And in another world I watch adventures
No one has seen and never will know.
Not the teacher’s fault—No,
She did not make me see this on a schedule last year.
But even so I softly sigh
And drag myself back to reality
Of English, 3rd Hour.
—17 October 1989
To Draw to the Earth
Slowly now, but visibly, the moon
ascends the sky
And emerges, its pale gold to brighten
And before too long you can see it lighten
the tips of the clouds
It has topped, and all is vast to it.
Lying across my porch of hard stone
I look across the cornfield
And it does not curve, but holds a straight line
As far as I can see, into the line of dabbled shine
that a paintbrush touched
On its quiet way to eternity.
I am unbelieving; how can that disk of gently smiling
gold be so huge
To top our world in its time
And how can our world curve when mine
eyes see only a long
Row of endless life?
If ever I entertained doubts
of the healing of the earth
Which, for all its splendor, is more gentle to me
And soothes my wounds and gives me courage to be
whatever I need to be
And gives me strength, those doubts are gone.
—14 October, 1989