Driving east on buddha's birthday, April 9, 1978, past my own birthplace Grayling, Michigan, south 300 miles to Toledo, then east again to New York for no reason -- belled heart swinging in grief for months until I wanted to take my life in my hands; three crows from home followed above the car until the Delaware River where they turned back: one stood all black and lordly on a fresh pheasant killed by a car: all this time counting the mind, counting crows, each day's ingredients the same, barring rare bad luck good luck dumb luck all set in marble by the habitual, locked as the day passes moment by moment: say on the tracks the train can't turn 90 degrees to the right because it's not the nature of a train, but we think a man can dive in a pond, swim across it, and climb a tree though few of us do. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SOUND OF THE TREES by ROBERT FROST THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE by EZRA POUND PIONEERS! O PIONEERS! by WALT WHITMAN THE ROSE'S MESSAGE by MARY WINCHESTER ABBOTT ECLOGUE: TWO FARMS IN WOONE by WILLIAM BARNES |