(Moonrise over Hernandez by Ansel Adams)Pull the blue filter off
stars over the Great American Desert,
turn off the city, unhook industry,
and wait until some smoke clears,
I don't know why we didn't marry,
and I don't understand electricity.
Bring a cow in the living room
to keep things warm,
light a fire and an oil lamp or two,
put a hole in a plank of wood
over a hole in the ground
where we can relax and smoke.
We could grow a garden,
can tomatoes and pickle,
put saw dust in an ice house.
John Wesley Powell could feel his lost arm,
and I still speak to you.
The house remains full with shadow
and your cotton night gown.
The moon follows the moon.
Sputnik was artificial,
and could last a long time,
but the moon,
an orbit so full of orbit,
it falls and falls and falls and
sends its signal long past September.
No comments:
Post a Comment