Larry Kearny in small town

 

In the Fall of that Year, 1968

from small town #4 or is that

 

this year?

 

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

 

and sculptured.

 

in the dark. in the dream. and

 

I thought of it all

 

at once.

 

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

 

are easy

 

with each other. it

 

keeps me alive. did. does.

 

Susan

 

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

 

pepper trees,

 

the slope of the face of the concave of mountain

 

sliding, sliding,

 

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

 

crashing at

 

the shore.


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