Note From My Moleskine #6

July 6, 2009

7 July 2009
Ellicottville, NY

The front porch swings
float for miles in
front of me on this
driving range
suspended
forty feet above
the valley.
The valley boils
slowly. Its ridges
and runs
lope carefully toward
the sun exactly
as they are supposed
to. A small band
of the boiled valley–
a thin strip of gauze
against the sky–
chills me to the bone
for only a moment
as it crosses paths
with the sun,
each on a lateral track
to elsewhere,
one contemplating kissing
northern Ohio, one mowing
lawns in the afternoon
in Brookline, MA.
The gravel road
cuts a wet vein in the
grass. It flows more than
it walks towards the sun.
At its end, somewhere in
the rolling boil, I believe
there is brunch.
I will follow it if I
can, demanding pancakes as
I go.

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