From Loki Is Buried at Smoky Creek: Selected Poems, published by Talonbooks in 1980 .
I thought where I came from we grow up also only to reach heaven and / or what our bodies dictate to us
Sometimes I remember the ‘hinge’ too late or what we call the ‘fence’ having crossed over it side to side. Such ‘things’ and their ideas are ‘walls’ and demand me return into my life as the dogs scratch at the door for the warmth there. I wonder if I can ever pay attention like that to my own life and the simple or bare particulars of what is its ‘number’ without making up some other cruel paradigm to swim around in. I feel the spring in me and the water running. But I don’t know how it does that or where.
