Sheaves

.

Away off
the cawing
of crows
an open window
foggy air—

inside
these elements
Pahn goes
to the schools
and the wild lands

and returns

and with

these sensations
he has lain
his manuscripts
in neat lines
along a straight road
on the edge
of that rich
fall field

where he expects to make
his permanent home

Some have been accepted
by the secretaries
of his upbringing

Some have been perused
by the casual editors
he’s invited to look

Some are untouched

clean
and unknown
still holding
the power
of privacy—

waiting

available
for someone’s
hands
or thoughts

And if you pick up a page
the words
will thumb
through your memories

make demands
upon your heart

undress you
and stare
at your body

.

.