After James Wright

Outside room window  

I scope my friendly oak 

staunch in the dirt 

mound arm-wrestling wind 

in sunshine. Near the fence 

corner behind the greenhouse 

sparrows chuckle & make 

lovelies out of logpiles. Critters 

brave shoving themselves 

through a plot of muted mealy 

grass. Bedside glass makes light 

sectioned on piles of pants  

pants & other things  

that don’t amuse me until  

washing machines feel them go  

limp. Loose-leaf. Like 

October’s fallings. Unruly unruly  

those shriveled-up small witch  

hands the shadows of branches 

growing very long wishing  

they were something denser  

like shadows of tree trunks.  

I embrace tempur 

pedic as the evening darkens  

& comes on. My head-hawk 

dream-floating over looking  

for home. I have wasted the day.

Henry Koskoff