In a wilderness of reasons
not to write, he wrote. Just wrote.
Each word was the belief
in the possibility of the next.
Let's lay down some lines for Langston Hughes
this day of news: 20 January 2009. A fine
piece of the dream's no longer deferred, though
the thought's occurred that Mr. Hughes
Be the noble curator of your excellence, for
fate made you perfect. In all things, be precise:
standing, sitting, staring, walking, sniffing, eating,
sleeping, killing. Never look in mirrors,
Today’s whether report
calls for increasing perplexity
in the morning hours,
followed by intermittent
Imagine you can consider all ideas
And images represented by all words
And numbers in all libraries worldwide.
Open the book of this consideration.
Among the events occurring
in the universe today, one featured
a convergence of the life patterns
belonging to a salamander and me.
Stone walls get the last word.
This wall, my father built.He's dead.
It stands.He hefted each rock, troweled
mortar, composed High-Sierra granite,
News: a signature of flight
stays imprinted on blue-black strata
in Earth’s uncertain crust.
(Body long since gone.)
The circle is the center of the game:
The trip from home to home; mound; ball.
And Baseball’s creed is O-penness: fields;
Gloves like birds’ mouths; past fences lies forever.
The field of our day lay ordinarily
before us. Gravity and practice
tethered our thoughts