[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