More By This Poet
Prayer for My Father
Your head is still
east and west.
That body in you
insisting on living
is the old hawk
for whom the world
If I am not
with you when you die,
that is just.
It is all right.
That part of you cleaned
my bones more
than once. But I
Waking from Sleep
Inside the veins there are navies setting forth,
Tiny explosions at the waterlines,
And seagulls weaving in the wind of the salty blood.
It is the morning. The country has slept the whole winter.
Window seats were covered with fur skins, the yard was...
Driving toward the Lac Qui Parle River
I am driving; it is dusk; Minnesota.
The stubble field catches the last growth of sun.
The soybeans are breathing on all sides.
Old men are sitting before their houses on car seats
In the small towns. I am happy,
The moon rising above...