((((((((((((())))))))))))

If I watch from the distance of a city
or revolve on a tractor seat
and live the rivulets in soil
that machine makes but cannot control--
the breeze, eating, the magma heating--
as I watch you come closer,
the mystery only increases,
that is why I keep watching.

In cemeteries the the wonder of many
young faces lit up on a patio
keeps occurring, no need
to drive the graves deeper
the frost collapses
you and I have no you and I
to step out of, headstones lichen laden
a corroded living photograph,
the sky that the sun once owned
inlapsing vastation, the dark haired bird
leaves on a paper train, every time.