[Nature Is Never Journalistic]
Nature is never journalistic.
It does not tell us to tell how
It is faring now. We still go
All of us in our lanes and roads
Immersed in that which is not us.
In fact last Tuesday afternoon
I locked myself in my coat and closed
The door and threw myself on the mercy
Of rainy December, a new month.
One step two step three step more.
Four step five step I went falling
Into the outofdoors world
To give myself a shake to shake
The words I live on up a bit.
I see an old tin can in the hedge.
It is not speaking. Here I am
On Tuesday the of December
At five o’clock walking the road
Between the whining, beaded hedges
For nothing nothing nothing nothing.
If you would like to contact me
Wait at the telephone pole whose top
Shows just over the misty brink
Of that next hill. Be sure you are
A woman with all a woman’s best.
Now as the blinders whistle for dusk
And my simple sophisticated boots
Clip on the road as my metrenome
You should look out for me coming up
Soon to be seen from your side