Fame Is A Lot Of Fun, But

Suddenly This Defeat. This Rain. The Blues Gone Gray And The Browns Gone Gray And Yellow A Terrible Amber. In The Cold Streets Your Warm Body. In Whatever Room Your Warm Body. Among All The People Your Absence The People Who Are Always Not You. I Have Been Easy With Trees Too Long. Too Familiar With Mountains. Joy Has Been A Habit. Now Suddenly This Rain.

Are The Angels Of Her Bed The Angels Who Come Near Me Alone In Mine? Are The Green Trees In Her Window The Color Is See In Ripe Plums? If She Always Sees Backward And Upside Down Without Knowing It What Chance Do We Have? I Am Haunted By The Feeling That She Is Saying Melting Lords Of Death, Avalanches, Rivers And Moments Of Passing Through, And I Am Replying, "yes, Yes. Shoes And Pudding.

I Would Say Pittsburgh Softly Each Time Before Throwing Him Up. Whisper Pittsburgh With My Mouth Against The Tiny Ear And Throw Him Higher. Pittsburgh And Happiness High Up. The Only Way To Leave Even The Smallest Trace. So That All His Life Her Son Would Feel Gladness Unaccountably When Anyone Spoke Of The Ruined City Of Steel In America. Each Time Almost Remembering Something Maybe Important That Got Lost.

The Woman Is Not Just A Pleasure, Nor Even A Problem. She Is A Meniscus That Allows The Absolute To Have A Shape, That Lets Him Skate However Briefly On The Mystery, Her Presence Luminous On The Ordinary And The Grand. Like The Odor At Night In Pittsburgh’s Empty Streets After Summer Rain On Maples And Sycamore.

The Abandoned Valley Can You Understand Being Alone So Long You Would Go Out In The Middle Of The Night And Put A Bucket Into The Well So You Could Feel Something Down There Tug At The Other End Of The Rope?