Dispatch #152
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A Title for the Haze
In a patch of sunlight
a decapitated grasshopper
twitches. The sunlight twitches.
Sky the size of a sky imagined.
Squint to see the quarter moon
—shallow gash on blue horizon.
Squint to hear beyond windows
wafting muzak. I’m half-awake
in this field of turned-on particulars.
A wreck of yellow blossoms
under a barn door window.
A barn door without the barn.
O you genius asshole! Haha! “Sky the size of the sky imagined.” Brilliant! Applause, applause!
“A barn door without the barn,” in context of the poem, and in context of the larger tradition—in particular Whitman’s lilacs blooming in the dooryard—is such a strong image.