Going Long.

It’s raining. I guess that isn’t unusual, but it’s exciting in the morning. I got a call an hour after I woke up – I’ve officially been offered the job to work this summer as a cook at this international youth camp. It’s great news, though I wish I could’ve acted faster on that census job. The idea of being stationary for another eight weeks is a little maddening. I want to get to Texas.

With that thought, instead of an excerpt, a poem.

lyle

a tall quiet man
with hands like saucers
one who moves slow
is all i can bear
sometimes, you know
the one who walks his fences every morning
and talks to his horses
a quiet hand on a soft nose
mothy ears flickering
to his voice
and when he goes
back along the fence
the wet eyes like a doe’s
but not afraid reflect him
a long back sinking
in a round lake