In That Time


The day had its own shape
like a dress pinned up by the shoulders.
The day was sweeping water past the window.

We were going to live in a tree.
We were placing ourselves on a branch
next to the bird with a borrowed voice.

The river wore one glittering eye,
another eye filled with sand.
The river blinked and blinked.
I should have thought of it.

Once a man leaned over the dark hole
of a well and dropped his name down
into the space between top and bottom,
saying, now float. Come back to me smarter.

I will find out where everybody went.
I will break my pencil into two pencils.

We were going to meet for dinner.
At the edge of the forest, the edge of the city.

Once I stood inside an empty schoolhouse
with a fireplace at each end of the long room,
the 1,2,3 still rolling, a small giggle
tucked into the cracks of the wall.

Outside, cows read the slow text of grasses.
Closed their creamy eyes as they ate.
Goodby, goodby. A farmer was selling that place
for 2 thousand dollars. A river
with a gurgling voice. I closed my eyes.
Some small person threw down
this red coat and ran away