1.
They said, Go, rise each day
with her, become
the reliable dough, a family needs.
I wouldn’t. I walked away
from the kitchen, the store
she was building in her breast…
And everything grows dim
like the little stone
brought home from the shore.

                  2.
What will I bring
if I come to your house?
A cold wind at the door,
bad dreams to your spouse.

There isn’t a tree
in your backyard,
the lawns are plastic,
the chairs are too hard.

No, I wouldn’t talk.
I’d be full of spite
and I’d strike my head
like a match that won’t light.

                  3.
Woman, mirror of all my sides,
I pass through you to the window.

When I lay my hand on the grass
forgive me if I call the earth my child.

                  4.
Always poor, he knows
the crickets will leave him
small jars of money.

He waits, he admires a weed.
His dreams are addressed.

At night by his desk
he becomes a flower;
children are bees in his arms,
a little pain making honey.

1968


 = Daniel Myers