That morning, he woke and said:
Like the long shadow of a spike
sunk in a waterlogged coffin,
my heart points always to the west,
beyond the Mississippi River,
beyond the desert
and the Continental Divide.
I've never heard your voice,
he said, but your words
wake my heart--
mixing memory and desire,
stirring dull roots with spring rain,
etcetera, etcetera,
in the midst of life
we are in death,
etcetera and so on.
She said:
Stay home,
hometown homespun.
Stay home,
provincial provocateur.
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