1985, 1987, 2005, 2007

In that drive, 1200 miles
of which I remember 35
I'm sure there's a story
I believe there's a way
To get from the turnpike
To the prairie
To the foothills, to the grave
To whatever it is you call
The house on the top of the hill
Above the too-small garages
Neither of which is mine

I remember the Minneapolis flood of '87
The south side streets got the worst of it
I drove there to check things out
While my parents were packing
Boxes for Asia
I was listening to "In My Tribe"
Driving slowly through the water
I know I live near water

In the end there had better be
More than music and perjury
More than changing our minds
At the least convenient times

Only I can make it there
A small climb up a waterfall
Dry in summer, dead in fall
Lush in winter, winter's all
Summer works its body for

June 10, 2007