Larry Kearny in small town
In the Fall of that Year, 1968
or is that
there were so many storms we were
wet all the time
and the attic we slept in was cut
adrift sometimes. the grapefruit moon. the whole of the ocean
pacific black. last night
I walked in the city and down the fading light
the oaks were oddly slender dark
in the dark. in the dream. and
I thought of it all
and well above the top of tree
a globe of light fell down and through
the holes and fringes dark of mind in safety
sheds with light. in the nature of
the fall. that year. which
has never left.
the lights of the houses the eyes
of the houses
are all of the dream of the inside I had. I have.
that in some inside place the hearts
with each other. it
keeps me alive. did. does.
hears me sometimes.
sometimes there we are
alone again in the room at the top of
the leaning house. the grapefruit moon
watching the spiders and all
the fruit trees, the bending
the slope of the face of the concave of mountain
the lights in the trees rearranging. no
need. no need my love.
Iím still a damaged being loving
you through all these
isolate lights in the trees on this walk
in the fall of this year. that year.
wet through and through. my
hope is mostly for
our little boy
who sleeps downstairs
in his own strange room.
and feels things loudly