Points of No Return
Driving Back From Ohio

night delirium
before dawn reflecting
some late-night return
gratefully, the heavy drowsiness failed to take hold
past that point too late to find a motel open
or prices doubling, approaching the city

a collision, of course
the road of faith
rarely runs straight past the idols
even when you can name them
angels sweep in, if you please
be gentle, firm, unswerving
I’m not speaking of blood, precisely
but the ricochet or somersault

if you will, safe in mountains
beside churning waters
twenty years later, fertility
in the herds, in the family
silos thrusting out from the spread

calico millworks
down to the cataract
copper ram riding a weathered vane
sunset somewhere over my origins
the route keeps winding through shadows
of coupling and children
footing, and repose
with variations, with or without color

calico as a name springing out of India
over the cataract of the Nile
the pineapple and palm


That’s what Woodpecker said.


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