A devil, an eddy, an air ambulance:
I wish I were any of these things
and not the sort to raze where I have been.
Last night? Where was I last night?
Turning the bridge into a whisked piano,
making killer passes at cattle. The limit
What would I not give to put things back,
spin blindfolds out of thunderheads.
No one, then, would look on my lowing
except as necessary grief, the wind
in wrangled spars astride the Brazos
and the buzz of telegraph wires.
First published in Sound Houses, Carcanet, 2011.