Brief Landing on the Earth's Surface

Birthday Poem

Birthday Poem Does the road wind past fields? Silver in the rorred cups offenceposts, snow or moonlight; you no longer know the season. Are the answers whole? Words are gravel spinning from a tire. Your name? Forgotten, or simply left behind in the long minnow's pull through tunnels where your hair turns white; your voice, receding, twists back into your mother's veins. Color that has stained the nasrurtiums and thickened like a bruise on the eggplants lifts &om the garden at dusk, raken back into the sun. Who is the sun? Nothing now but partides of red or gold in someone else's eye it grows toward moonlight on a road where gravel glistens. A radio plays in a deserted parking lot in the all-night laundromat's blue glare. 53 ...