“To turn over in bed and see you there
is to see you in a new hemisphere.
The geography of desire
…The mind is
a landscape like a room.
And all across the night
we shifted and we shifted into
…The universe could
have been many places. Now it is
just one place. We race and we race to it
and when we arrive
we are two tired, busted-out stars.
In a room wherefrom you are looking at me:
what we obliterate is ours.”
“I am Appalachia. In my veins
Runs fierce mountain pride; the hill-fed streams
Of passion; and, stranger, you don’t know me!
…How can you find rapport with me –
You, who never stood in the bowels of hell,
Never felt a mountain shake and open its jaws
To partake of human sacrifice?…
You, who never stood on a high mountain,
Watching the sun unwind its spiral rays;
Who never searched the glens for wild flowers,
Never picked mayapples or black walnuts; never ran
Wildly through the woods in pure delight,
Nor dangled your feet in a lazy creek?
You, who never danced to wild sweet notes,
Outpouring of nimble-fingered fiddlers…
I am Appalachia; and, stranger,
Though you’ve studied me, you still don’t know.”
“It is the indecision of a seesaw. The wood chips. You told me never again live in
tender. The wood has grain as if I could engrave. For you a monkey bar. For me
straw and light. For you the scurry of an ant. The sky spreads out like an arm…”