From “After”

168 CHAD SWEENEY FROM “AFTER” For Everett John Sweeney (1945–2010) Is this memory I am watching A girl in red Wool leads the sheep a long Line of them over snow And they follow her small as She is is This my country the Bones inside the animals an Empty larger the Falling of The falling of the snow * They don’t know it’s over For a while I’ve seen them in museums In circles the public Fountains They follow someone a few 169 Steps is he mine am I that Until no one it’s Quiet they float up To hang Their feet in magnolias All ripple and thinly Until they are many Feet in many trees the slowing Of light Is a new kind of everywhere body * See me I almost shout Or I do shout I must be Like green day stars a few Washed out in the low Heaven I am the heaven That touches To shoes the steps and White lamps still lit At noon I enter the museum to Fill square spaces of paint With my absence 170 * And there are too many moons Each of us Through prisms Echo the brightly Against columns the columns A bodiless animal Eating the air Above tracks Where no train is Little million Doors and darkly From here the future Looks like many attempts to ask ...