6-4-2014

All those dusks
on the Michigan lot
alongside
the trailer,

alongside

impossible
Sugar Creek,

its ending full of
handfuls
of rimfire;

A certain school year;

A stack of Easters
coming again
much later
to embarrass
rare colleges,
graduations.

All those certain hours --

Things not earning
having been sharpened,
kept;

Things not earning
catching the blind,
stammering stolen wages atop
watery spider legs
ambling
long grass,
early summer.

All that grace,
And yet.