THE STORY OF THE WORLD

The world is wind

            and sounds that gnaw

                        through wind

    The small thoughts I have to myself

                       merely an off-key 

industrial disturbance

            the hum and clang

    of supermarkets, filling stations, liquor stores

            along the busy road

                        with its perfect pitch

Sometimes, the world speeds by

You drive out to the country, go for a walk

        along a lake teeming with white-caps

                a strength so frenzied

                        that you stumble

            put out of yourself 

                                  

At last, you are alone, faceless

            at the beginning of a story

    You belong to the sky

 which guides you now

     toward a clear blue opening

            in the thick, circling cumulus 

                       punctured 

by shrieks below

    voices, like white-veined gray rocks,

      hoping to delay your departure                         

            until they can be heard 

                    You come to

        Children 

    playing on the damp ground 

        and you among them

                getting back on your feet