Issue 105, Winter 1987
A soft, motiveless conversation that might never end
In a country of size, so beautiful days did not finger each ear.
Near one end grackles, the birds in armor,
Came to a nest to take Some dove into the soil.
On the other side, silver wings turned in the fog
To a hot wind as they should and were lifted better
(As arms flap a sheet to rise in the morning).
A country of such size that at any moment everything was being done.
The conversation continued endlessly and as they came to understand this
They thought of swooning, had never done it,
But would not. Ram the bird ripped the nest.
The miraculous fool danced on a wing in the rain.
Hit, hit the earth.
I love that wind to dry my mouth.
Someone is even drinking water in Philadelphia from a little glass
As I in my valley with my big glass to outlast the conversation
And you in your cap moaning for New York And you in your gown
Put the phone down and get out on the plane.