|Jan/Feb 1999 Poetry|
Some Place Else
Rain on the shingle roof
rolling over like chips of shale;
I let the water cup in my hands
and feel the cold insides of the clouds
ten thousand feet up that make me wonder
if I could ever find someplace to live
that didn't make me think of someplace better.
A rowboat in the middle of the lake.
The sun is on the willow stirring
the water with curled fingers.
The trees shadow and darken the water,
probably good for bass. A red winged blackbird
sways on a reed near green boulders.
I didn't think the people in the boat
saw me until they waved. The girl waved.
He was rowing slowly as if the boat were in mud.
She watched me, my feet in the water up to my pants.
I felt like a heron.
I wanted to fly. Lift my long arms
like a Japanese fan on a hot summer day
below Mt. Fiji.