And the years come close around me
Like a crowd—spruce limbs
Wave beyond my window
I’m not myself—
I say “let it go”
Child, young man
All his mistakes
Crying alone
Tree wind helps
A cup of mushroom tea
A song my mother loved
Steep rain
Three gold apples
Hanging
From a dying tree
My friends
Who are disabled
Are struggling—
One can’t find an accessible home
Another can’t get a steady job
Though he has a doctorate
Still another can’t keep his car running
So he can teach part time.
The day is substantially dark
Who am I?
Who are we?
Planet of the Blind 