As I Move West

Cloudspill in the low parts;

A river flows on another’s back

And like the river it is drawn apart,

But it is sagging and broken in spots

Like the Baybridge sagging after the quake.

I take a breath of your air

Opening slow to fill the spaces

I have emptied into you.

I know the skin rots

Slowly: faces drain off like farmland

Splotched with green in wetter places,

Stained dark reds where it was scarred

And with the high plains finely cracked.

You are young enough that you can’t help

Being evenly moistened and lovely –

But as I move West from Indiana

Things don’t look so good.

You know me and I know

To leave well enough alone sometimes;

But building yourself in terraced monuments

Worries me, and all these scaffolds

Will be your burden, not mine.

You need to be low enough for clouds

To caress your knotted back

If I cannot,

     or want not,

                                     as I move West.