Here you were born
And raised, and raised
Well. Not beyond

their means. Not a war-torn
country either, here.
Dank perimeter that is

your weather, leitmotif.
Sure, you’d feel its cold
coming like a not-so-distant

future, the wind of it,
the deep drone of it.
The animal

that didn’t make it to the shed
was an accident.

But that is hardly
a puzzle: only a short
distance and you’re out there, right

in the middle of things,
important, just being necessary
and all by yourself.

Few more days before rain.
The gloaming’s not-yet-green
will find a way to survive

the accidents. The leaves are dead
underfoot. Beneath, history’s
throbbing, been breaking out

of, awhile. That backyard
had never been so beautiful.
Too much of an opening

in the wilderness but quite
a luck, and you knew it,
aerial wire to aerial wire.

Someone, from the farthest
End of the house, called
your name and you didn’t

answer. You were all of four.
These limits. Otherwise you’re there
already, sudden and not moving away.

Nothing like this revenge.

Montage Vol. 10 • December 2006


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