Each H (II)

Samuel Amadon

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
will gain more for it going on. From it

we would become strangers better
exchanging quarters in
the station, or elevator home to

my interaction with a mother asking her
child a question I happily
answered. We are so happy to know

something. We forget our place. How
winning has more
feeling. Then we count the ways.

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

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

Tourism

I think I think of what I want en masse,
as concrete thinks it wants the overpass—

while wind and broken glass want heavy rains,
Los Angeles I want across the plains.

I hear myself collecting what I’ve caught,
like “in the hospital and you’ve been shot.”

As time so clearly in the precinct falls,
with phone calls mounting crisis on the walls,

police are humming parts of prime-time hooks:
I want their fade-out lines and distant looks.

I want this pickup idling for a beat,

Samuel Amadon

2017

Poems

Each H (II)

More by this poet

The Greenness of Grass Is a Positive Quality

Pedestrian

Tourism

Poems

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Each H (II)

More by this poet

The Greenness of Grass Is a Positive Quality

Pedestrian

Tourism

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