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.




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.