The great strong man
under the tallest tree, inside the largest forest. with a halo of nets
in the clearing, from the path (from the stand), our surrounds
around us. despite what we read, the fences, the beautiful
shade, the cracks wide enough to squeeze through. (the ever-widening
holes. we could gaze there forever)
will benefit from some time away
perhaps, drinking in the green and brown so nothing would be stronger
then, broader than, the selection (of trees) we see here, no pity. no passing
without looking up. no silence from the stream. and the movement
in the trees, the rustle in the ground, picking up the (nails. the strewn things)
and so I would begin to disappear.
the angles lit-up and the fence poles (arms)
(abutting our very site. what we’ve determined is common ground) in the place
we’ve sent ourselves (to grow a little older in), to peer from, the waiting
room (abounding with gnats. the flit of the moth and the mosquito)
forgot to be shameful. forgot to hide since we see through to sky
all here together, tree, they could see us
With tools and wrought fences, pergolas
On the back patio, children in the bedrooms with wet eyes, with dark hands.
And the sun peeking out, even through the cool, through the parted clouds.
We’d lived there before, left and returned, not liking the alternative.
Liking the safety of it, the climate, the relative ease, liking speaking the language.
Or trying to, or being waited on by animals, or reigning in their small noises.
Liking the emotion, left there in the courtyard.
Opening up into treed spaces, green valleys, a decision.
The old house, the frame of it, as we think about nesting here
The wind veered while we were at dinner
as the landscape turned frankly
At the base of the hill, lolling pines, tiny noises
hanging there within.
No possibilities in the low sun, sweeping entry, tablecloths
flapping under the awning.
Eyeing the ledges, drawn forward and along and nearer
and nearer that edge, eyeing
ever that way west and nearer and nearer that edge—