1.
I was out one night
walking when
upon the path something
blocked the way—
whenever I am lost
in words it is
where I am—
not noted but thought
to have gotten down
what’s blocked
without knowing
quite how—
perhaps
to have stopped
without knowing
where I was
going, something
blew me away
2.
two lean close
in a meadow at dusk though
at this distance it’s not clear
whether they’re man
or woman or man
and woman.
a stone in the shape of
a baby on top of
a table, a dog
and a stick and a can.
two move behind
bare branches and
it’s a man, definitely
a man, running.
it’s clear now
she’s a woman, spilling
a little beer and turns,
goes back towards where
his beer hit the ground,
frothing.
the direction he
stormed off in,
across the bridge
and into the park
on the path.
3.
Where he went, angry,
all the way back
to his childhood.
An embarrassment
of words there,
always. Of things
said. Not noted
but someone
somewhere remembers.
That he can’t see
the path
as it turns does
not matter—someone
somewhere does.
For the path as it
turns is his
body, in his body—
the thing of
the thing that
he speaks when
he’s lost in it.
What words
if one could follow
them through
to the end
remember.
