1995 Road Movie “...had been a happy time.”

I'm continuing into Road Movie...

1995 Road Movie “...had been a happy time.” 

The mocking bird sets down on 

the fallen vase,

the wind quickens-- 

a reddening sky, the weather cools , 

I’m looking for the fish to arrive,

the new briskness of darkening skies

out back here, my studio 

painting outside, the hobo style

listening to jazz on the college station, 

hearing the resignation 

this place brings on, in my voice,

sounds like Schuyler and Ashbery, 

Fairfield and Georges

like that old recording of Pollock,

gone

god, but I love the good old fashioned 

sitting out in the air, 

mucking around for clams, burned 

and red, waiting till things are just right

this second order of reality 

A few beach roses left, 

mostly the red orange hips

the lilies are gone and the trumpet vine

out back, the candle is 

bleached, white 

from a certain red, the little boy in bronze 

amid some sun flowers 

the broken shells 

the rope intertwining 

the vase

“wading into the pink translucence” 

Ah! this is where I should be

the water rippling

These lines from, Road Movie, a continuing long poem I started in 1999. I was going over notes from 1995. I continued into 1997. There are twelve sections to the poem, this selection from the first.