Myself I Sing

Me! he says, hand on his chest.

Actually, his shirt.

And there, perhaps

The question.

Pioneers! But trailer people?

Wood box full of tools-

The most

American. A sort of

Shrinking

In themselves. A

Less than adult; old.

A pocket knife,

A tool-

And I

Here talking to the man?

The sky

That dawned along the road

And all I've been

Is not myself? I think myself

Is what I've seen and not myself

Is all these things

Of where Iam

Of whom I love-

A man marooned

No longer looks for ships, imagines

Anything on the horizon. On the beach

The ocean ends in water. Finds a dune

And on the beach sits near it. Two.

Finds himself by two.

Or more.

'Incapable of contact

Save in incidents'

And yet at night

Their weight is part of mine.

For we are all housed now, all in our apartments,

The world untended to, unwatched.

And there is nothing left out there

As night falls, but the rocks.