America has so many roads-
On every road, someone lost.
And should we be sorry for the girls
Who will go into labor nine months from tonight?
Should we be sorry for being born
Americans? Here, lost at the crossroads,
Trying to find our place on the map.
So many towns, so many little stars…
America has surrounded us.
And the poems that fell from our mouths
Like stars in August-
Look for them in the Pacific.
Epitaph for a Pair of Old Shoes
Humble, born to the earth,
They knew where they stood.
When they moved,
It was because they must.
Anger moved them,
And the desire to be elsewhere,
Or something in them
Responding to music.
They knew also
What waiting can be.
Side by side, they mastered it,
Like an old married couple.