Door in the Mountain: New and Collected Poems, 1965-2003

Your number is lifting off my hand

Noon in the Line Outside The pretty woman with a prisoner number, CDCP *****, written in ballpoint on the palm of her hand. “You have to give them the number.” “You can’t bring anything inside.” “I’ll hold your place in the line while you go back to the car.” Her clear plastic pocketbook full of quarters for the vending machines inside. “It has to be clear plastic.” “You’re allowed $30. in quarters.” I find his number, with the prison pen I write it on the palm of my hand. Inside Your red eye— soap, you said —injury? and the darkness around your eye and down your cheek —birthmark? injury? Close close you drew me in, Injury— Your number is lifting off my hand Your number is lifting off my hand you are becoming gone to me but the cut-out hurts where you were behind my eye 34 door in the mountain around your eye down my cheek, Ancient Injury— * The Needle North I had a boat lost the food and the shoes Hollow wrist fill it with food fill it with shoes Some say we rise like dots into the sky Walking through the snow the world begins to whirl from this immortal coil to that immortal coil We whirl now into deadwood but fire inside dead wood but fire new poems 35 ...