Sometimes you sit on a patch
of deadening grass
overlooking the river
and wonder
what it would feel like

A steady giant, dappled
graying. Turning grass
into narrow furrows. Boy
leaning with all his weight
works his father’s fields.

I will know I have lived a good life
when everything I own
at the time of my death
can fit into a shoebox
you can slip under the bed

I hoped to burst into leaf
(Having read it worked for her)
My toes sunk deep into brown carpet,
Arms branching toward the ceiling –

At one point in the gallop
All four feet are off the ground
And the horse is for the moment
Airborne the way an angel

Up the dust and indian paint brush afternoon
the sun rolled like a stone
between my fingertips.
Even with the columbines
and valleys sprouted high green,

It is time for putting away – and yet,
An aura lingers over a photograph,
A card or two.

Of himself, there is hardly a sign;
Red roses in the vase blacken

Twice unlucky in love, Grace
never said a word about the dazzling blue tumors
bubbling in her stomach.
Proud Ohio stock, she disbelieved in doctors.
No hospital, no morphine.

The air is gamy and thick.
My skin slick blisters
with sweat. Mosquitoes
drone in a ditch. Dragons
fly above a murky Mekong,

When I stepped out
into the purpled night air
even the rain smelled like you,