My steel roof mirrors clouds Like a book the sky left off reading. The story of clouds passing keeps passing, As stories will, even with the book turned over, Even closed, shelved, forgotten; Inside I leave off working And turn my notebook spine up to wonder What kind of story is boring the sky. I don't have to go far for the answer. I don't have to go anywhere. Shall I take up serpents for interest? I have taken up serpents. Shall I refuse happiness? For interest? No, I shall claim the obvious, That hearts are no exclusive province. I shall go outside and lie down in the grass. I shall read the passing clouds, Chaotic, senseless, wise, Unlike anything one finds in reflection. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org |