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to come along
as I was called
(sometimes before the sunrise)
and working then
for ways to understand

confessions of another sin
of wanting more
than lifetimes –
with reason to remember
where I’ve been

as quiet stirs
the midnight ’round
I wait up with the wonder
as sure will come
the dream where (still) I live

the house
the yard
the leaning porch
chickens never aging
(I wonder to the places they belong)

who’s to say
and what of me
could tell (and not sound foolish)
to know each step
and where the stone is gone

my hammer weighs
against my breast –
the barn door needs repairing
(and once or twice
the gate’s come off the hinge)

breezes blow me north and south
most nights –
right through the middle
roosters sit in rusty trees
and curse the early sun

splintered rails
and knee-deep weeds –
fruit jars filled with wishes
dancing rooms
(no need for shoes)
the rent has all been paid

I can’t be sure
the neighbors watch
my coming back for going –
were not for grace
I’d leave the night
for home

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