Thinking About Bill Stafford's Earth Dweller
(Lostine River Meadows)
"it was all the clods at once become precious"
let the symbols crash, let the cymbals stand in
for every ordinary experience ever overlooked
the road bends and stomps across the river
and a percussion orchestra of ice slaps against
the piers. this may not be the right place, but
then again, there may not be one, until your own
heart settles contented in the brush, the shed,
the barn, the shack. then in every little hole
imagine a metropolis - comings and goings,
dining in and out, trafficking in roots and bugs,
and all the way made smooth night and day
and day and night by gopher policemen in the dark.
See Earth Dweller at http://www.williamstafford.org/spoems/pages/earthdweller.html
