From my three small rooms I’ve gotten to
dome growth, fireweed, slough views,
a porch like a theater seat
to a sharpened sunset. After the year
we didn’t manage to have, I’m beyond
the indifference of loneliness, which was a best pace
to handle the horrors. I can finally walk close
beside this and that, people
in silhouette. The giant sky
pasted spontaneous blue
and the water clear, clear on both sides.
How fine to listen to the gulls
hunting. I have come with almost nothing. It is work
to trust. The house down the road
has collected nine rotted cars.
Diluted music unstuffs from a front seat stereo.
Blankets clap windows.
Each evening, every color of dusk moves in
slow over those busted windshields
and I intend to find out how it trembles.
