Centenary Federation

The quiet confidence is past.

We watched one season
spill the creek so wild it beat
barns and bridges to nothing

as if they were not real, not written
in the years and years to come.

As if we were not getting by out here
beneath a sun like three seasons
casting ourselves like ideas

into the exhausting distance again
            and then again.

*

This is the sinister circle made itself clear.

Some dogs have said yes
and are walking one way.
Their wilding wrecks the lark.

Out here, instead of a barn intone
some words that sound like barn.

Instead of a bridge scatter some debris
in the creek and in place of some men
scratch out a sketch of some men

just to be sure we'll never die.

*

The creek still talks its way cross-county

past the rot-marked barn that stands
forever above its living debris

past the boy who knows in his heart some go on forever
past the blue banks where we turned to trees
            and laid finally down
like larch will lie to be nearer

some storied blue banks on which
the basic and great too were piled out.

Copyright © 2006 James Capozzi All rights reserved
from Diner
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission