Every sentence is another sentence,
really another life.
Someone’s always one step ahead.
The streets glow from the snow plow’s blade
chipping up stone with a daylight flash.
From here, the same tree out back,
the same asphalt roof,
the same wounded clothespins
shifting on the line.
Sometimes the man hanged is a hero,
sometimes a traitor.
Perfect sight and perfect blindness
when it suits our needs.
One day you realize
that you cannot break out
of your own bones.
There is snow-mush in the gutters
and along the highway,
melting here, turning to rock there.
Something’s always a step ahead.
Every sentence is another life,
really another sentence.
from his book “Trees,Coffee and the
Eyes of Deer”
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