away from the road 25
a last time
He still has poems to write
but that region of his mind
which got busy and mobilized
the words, will not budge now.
It's like an old saddle horse
that has stopped on his own.
The rider puts a heel
to the fl ank. The horse stands there,
then turns his head back around,
rolling an eye at his rider
as if to say, You ought to know
that if I could I'd go on.
the fox
In the year 1954 of a bygone era
Fall came and he took a leave
(certain he could not sit through
another graduate class -- not
yet), wrote a bit, taught one class --
he liked to teach, they needed
the money he put with what
she earned at her offi
ce job.
He'd fi sh the small stream that ran
below the cliff s at the edge
of town. They ate what he caught;
ate the blackberries, soft-ripe
large ones, that grew at streamside.
They made some blackberry wine,
once, from a small bucketful.