Sometimes comes happy without reason,

there is need that produces the get up to meet it;

sometimes beauty that before and before for so long

has escaped becomes present,

after clearing away, poking, needling, 

the ornaments. So in January the bare bones of the trees,

broken and littering the park after ages of ice,

mark something terrible; we walk among the dead

thinking there is only one way now, forward,






Open the glove compartment
take out the map
unfold it across the steering wheel
or the trunk of the car if it’s not raining
when you stop by an open field
you are here, there’s where you’re going

Open your brain, spread it out
gyri and sulci, grey matter, white matter
two and a half feet by two and a half feet
start the journey here
or there if it’s not raining

instructions are a function of
the extrapryramidal
motor system and cerebellum
if there’s spatial memory—driving by fields
the cow’s dark eyes surrounded by black-eyed Susans—
it’s the right hippocampus
left if words are attached
indian paint brush, queen anne’s lace
black-eyed Bess
associations are neo cortex
dark red love knot
long axons reaching across hemispheres following
major routes. Highwayman.
My grandmother recited every verse
from start to finish
short axons fine tune
lace, a pistol
here that sad day
everything came down around you
the sky streaming through your heart in rivulets
you stop by the side of the road
downpour obliterating the landscape
you feel like this
this feels like you