In the morning, you get the news
your best friend has killed his wife
and you think, “Hey, that’s a thing
I might someday like to try.”
We harvest wisdom wherever we can.
In rice fields, unnerved roads accept,
like fish, that floods will wash
them away. But it’s never so easy,
is it? Floods, tornadoes, murder.
No matter how furiously we paint
onto old canvasses, something
of the abandoned work shows through.
from Feeding the Crow (Plain View Press) and The Road Home (Dalton Publishing).
For my thoughts on writing this poem, follow this link.