American Landscapes — II

Facing westward
I stand in the seawind.
Black water moving on the sand
matches my breathing.

I turn my back to ruins
and I walk
making my speeches over water.

Forced metals
yield insoluble salts
leaves fill their complicated needs
whenever it rains.
I leave my footprints at the waterline
and the waves come.
The sun clears the sea.

American Landscapes — I

First light
beginning clear and violent
in the East.
There is no sound.

All I carry
of the cypresses
                  the dust
                  is here
and the sunflowers
the smell of corn and horses
where I’m walking.

There are towns here too
and in them
men to pass the time.
I know them.

Over their streetlights
over their shadows and voices
quick winds and
darkness when the sun goes
nowhere any water.