Five Directions to My House
Go back to the grain yellow hills where the broken speak of elegance
Walk up to the canvas door, the short bed stretched against the clouds
Beneath the earth, an ant writes with the grace of a governor
Blow, blow Red Tail Hawk, your hidden sleeve—your desert secrets
You are there, almost, without a name, without a body, go now
I said five, said five like a guitar says six.