going
up country
the trembling
woodsman
appears in double exposure
with borrowed
moustache
and faded dungarees
waiting
by the hayloft
all the latest kinds of hay
every
variety of hay
and some deformed vegetables
the tractor
left out in the field to rust
and we to explain the process
our sorry
attempts to do so
are childlike but reassuring
the greenhouse
overlaps the tractor slightly
at this point in our explanation
when it
comes into focus again
it will be time to move on from the country
where
gnats baffle in warm air
my forearm dancing through
riding
through texas
I am used
to them, their
difficult natures, stopping
only once en route just
to ask the way to amarillo
and searching
through drawers
of all this underwear I
thought I'd forgotten about
and here
they all are again
now like
each new line
written out making life
uncomfortable
for those gone before
I am crossing
the brazos at waco
I am wearing my coonskin cap
in memory of the alamo and of
my tennessean
great grandmother
who made it for me although it
didn't have a tail
but too
late, too late, all you
things I shall be
remembering
today for the last time
a
last guinness with vito
The
greatest friend I had in life
is hidden from me now
— Mike Heron
the canvas
silent, the leaves
retained details of past
conversations
we shared
a torch shone over them
words
no less difficult to read
I planted rosemary in memory
chewed
quietly on a twig
together we had felt
at home
and at once
the sunlight tasted
different
like the garden
carries on talking
and it
does too,
butterflies rippling
along
the cut surface
