I MISS NOTHING
ABOUT LITTLEFIELD
...And I am a camera, taking all in: I scan
the horizons of Mankind, and Manhood too,
yet I still miss my major dog and the great
shadow she threw. I can feel lots of things,
but no longer her. So I wince and move on.
-
The water glints, the light throws back,
my eyes recede, or they grow wide. All
depending upon the outside light, the time
of day, the manner of tides and rainbows
gay. I am a camera, again let me say.
-
Again, like a fat tourist at old Coney
Island, or a windblown Cape Cod boater,
or a sightseeing guide at San Francisco
Bay, I am everywhere, together, and then
nowhere at all - my lens is my reason,
and my light-meter, built in, is, perhaps,
like a moral compass with one, unworking,
small and modest glitch.
_
Things may grow blurry, but I stay
out of the ditch. I hope, anyway.
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