This morning two deer in the pinewoods, in the five a.m. mist,
in a silky agitation, went leaping down into the shadows
When the heart valve buckles or the brain vessel ruptures and I, at last accomplished, stumble sloshed in blood over the edge of the earth into the faulty recall of a few people, don’t weep for me.
I can’t remember how old I was,but I used to stand in frontof the bathroom mirror, trying to imaginewhat it would be like to be dead.
Sure enough, I hear the oldI told you so:Now that you have a child—
On a wall by his bed hangs a picture Of a curious boathouse On stilts in back water.
Driving to the airport, we pass the equestrianstatue in the park: the plumed generalon his narrow plinth. It’s not easy
It’s all come down to me sitting under a treeon a river bankon a sunny morning.It’s an inconsequential eventthat won’t go down in history.