Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
I love to go out in late September
among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries
to eat blackberries for breakfast,
the stalks very prickly, a penalty
I eat oatmeal for breakfast.
I make it on the hot plate and put skimmed milk on it.
I eat it alone.
I am aware it is not good to eat oatmeal alone.
I move my hand over
slopes, falls, lumps of sight,
For I can snore like a bullhorn
or play loud music
or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman
and Fergus will only sink deeper
stands for all things,
even those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
On the tidal mud, just before sunset,
dozens of starfishes
were creeping. It was
as though the mud were a sky
The stars were wild that summer evening
As on the low lake shore stood you and I
At intermission I find her backstage
still practicing the piece coming up next.
She calls it the "solo in high dreary."
Her bow niggles at the string like a hand