Robert Creeley, Some afternoon


Why not ride

with pleasure

and take oneself

as measure,


making the world

tacit description

of what’s taken

from it


for no good reason,

the fact only.

There is a world

elsewhere, but here


the tangible faces

smile, breaking

into tangible pieces.

I see


myself and family,

and friends, and

animals attached,

the house, the road,


all go forward

in a huge

flash, shaken

with that act.


Goodbye, goodbye.

Nothing left

after the initial

blast but


some echo like this.

Only the faded

pieces of paper