I clutch the hazel eyes of my father

in my sleep dreaming of walking

the tracks with my father’s lantern

looking for bodies

of deer & windblown derby hats from town

& the entirely underlined book

from the night before on my mind

the aureate nature of my telling

brutal grace follows realism

the transcended field I will tell you of later

my only one we were born in the same place & now lie down

what in the dark is essential?

I’ll be that