and strong wide open sky roofs of Buffalo

atop of this State New York,

the immense swell of this land

of eagles swooping,

merrily lost inside nesting rivers and mountains

and as the breath of this country changes,

Great Lakes blast on,

sail on by through well-below zero declarations,

below further falling trails of this Eastland

and as days replace each other

hours loose their implicit meaning,

giving way to folk natural progressions

beside antique ice saxophones

blowing wide open elephant honk riffs,

reminding these staid solemn mountains they’ve been exactly right all along,

and being frozen keeps you together long enough

for those songs you think about to go and again get thought up,

but this time in a blues minor key

and here the invisible sky below

seeks out paths,

flowing along forward signifying trails

where smoke memories

may rest to condense

and perhaps all or maybe most design is found or manifested from what lies still and cold underneath,

and what can only remain are sunshine and destituteness

taking their turns

becoming reality

and out there somewhere

let me jump far into what today can bring-

it is that sort of constant dilemma of needing to go further,

to continue stepping and dodging

the bullets of present now,

though knowing they may be concealed

still like all rumors

explode any second into

some cold mornings breakfast revelation

(i understand

always ready to go,

on)

and so that is why i come home Paterson

when i know it shouldn’t make any difference where youre born,

but still these clouds drift right past themselves

and i know i must try distances too,

without any excuses,

amen,

Yes!

2/17/73

Buffalo NY