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What I thought
was a fly on the window was
A knot on the branch outside
Near it a real fly sat
Quiet in the sun
Wind rocked all the branches the fly
sat still
“Homage to Robert Creeley” from The Collected Poems of Philip Whalen.
© 2007 by Philip Whalen. Published by Wesleyan University Press.
Used by permission.
Planted among driftwood
I watch the tide go out
It pulls the sundown with it
& across this scene & against the wind
Man on a motorbike white crash-helmet
His young son rides the gas tank before him
Slows down for the creek mouth
& not too fast up the beach north
I can't live in this world And I refuse to kill myself Or let you kill me The dill plant lives, the airplane My alarm clock, this ink I won't go away I shall be myself— Free, a genius, an embarrassment Like the Indian, the buffalo Like Yellowstone National Park.