Days of Future Dwell

Samuel Amadon

A dance professor around
her white house, which
windowed, countered,
surfaced with keys, bags,

a listing a broker found
he was proud to sell.
As grass is covered
with grass that’s mown,

why not be happy again
to find your schedule in
your hand, and all things
well. The squirrels leapt

off the branch that fell.
The technical part with
all the pieces lining up,
or already there, at work:

a something to do with
why I pick the tack
from the floor, why I
finger it like a shell. Say

the songs get longer and
the days—all of it—you
can hear it all coming,
if you’ve tied to it a bell.

About this poem:
"For a long time, I couldn't understand how people could write in quatrains and still look themselves in the mirror. And now, for some reason, they just feel calm and right."

Samuel Amadon

The Greenness of Grass Is a Positive Quality

Morning was when we decided if not for the grass rising then wind shifted the film even as your fingers said wind can’t shift film inside a camera.

What inside the camera couldn’t be shifted from grass rising to a tree without the film shifting the tree black we decided was purple with light between your fingers.

Was the tree light between your fingers?

Or was the curtain along the windowsill how we didn’t measure the width was where the wind was coming from?

Samuel Amadon

2017

Each H (II)

We are for the park, as we are for
enjoying its proximity to how
enjoying it for itself, as a park, is our

sign we are clearly thinking. On a tangent
as often as of two minds, but
then, perhaps, also another, and yet,

like pillows, I always feel I would be
more, if I could have more, which
makes me ask what gives us

over to giving ourselves, don’t end.
Don’t structure. If structure
is over, we could have had it

done. Like the seriousness become
a better secret as a secret

Samuel Amadon

2017

Pedestrian

I am a walker. I follow the sun as it angles
Into the evening on an edge where

A thoroughfare meets a hill of empty houses,
And as it spreads through back roads, I walk

Into nights—imaginary city—into nights
I walk changed, to be changed like a character

In a story I might read at the diner
On a damp morning when I don’t feel right, or

By the fire, folded into fire, days or nights
Or days again, walking with a map in

My head, a little blood in my teeth. If I walk
Out into my own block, and don’t know

Samuel Amadon

2017

Poems

Days of Future Dwell

More by this poet

The Greenness of Grass Is a Positive Quality

Each H (II)

Pedestrian

Poems

Page submenu block

Days of Future Dwell

More by this poet

The Greenness of Grass Is a Positive Quality

Each H (II)

Pedestrian

Newsletter Sign Up