his hair looks like wheat when you first meet him,
and you are muchly yourself, staring down from
mountains, delivering chocolate cake through hot
hallways, watching the red spun sugar flowers
melt into puddles or
fingerprints. and when you talk to him quickly
he smiles like a small fish, and says 'civil disobedience
is the way
of a great life, and fine minds grow up around
lakes, and in
small newengland jail houses' so right away you
want to run across the black highways and duck
into the wheatfields(that look like
his hair) and build your own cabin on the edge
of wilderness, and you are alone in the moon, and
you are watching the rabbits sleep unafraid in the
grass, and you
are eating chocolate cake, and when you wake up
the next autumn he is completely gone, on the other
side of the reservoir where there are reallive loons
and now everything
tastes like saying his name,
and looking outside a window
at a Delphic streetlamp, which says in a drawly tone
"he is like my light. he is unreachable.
you are running
for you own health now"
and you read poems.
and you think of his hair.