Image of the Engine (audio only)
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Sara in Her Father’s Arms
Cell by cell the baby made herself, the cells
Made cells. That is to say
The baby is made largely of milk. Lying in her father’s arms, the little seed eyes
Moving, trying to see, smiling for us
To see, she will make a household
To her need of these rooms—Sara, little seed,
Little violent, diligent seed. Come let us look at the world
2008
Myself I Sing
Me! he says, hand on his chest.
Actually, his shirt.
And there, perhaps,
The question.
Pioneers! But trailer people?
Wood box full of tools—
The most
American. A sort of
Shrinking
in themselves. A
Less than adult: old.
A pocket knife,
A tool—
And I
Here talking to the man?
The sky
That dawned along the road
And all I've been
Is not myself? I think myself
Is what I've seen and not myself
A man marooned
No longer looks for ships, imagines
Anything on the horizon.2002
Of Being Numerous, 12
'In these explanations it is presumed that an experiencing subject is one occasion of a sensitive reaction to an actual world.' the rain falls that had not been falling and it is the same world . . . They made small objects Of wood and the bones of fish And of stone. They talked, Families talked. They gathered in council And spoke, carrying objects. They were credulous, Their things shone in the forest. They were patient With the world. This will never return, never, Unless having reached their limits They will begin over, that is, Over and over
2002