Explanation Given a Friend Regarding Sleeplessness
Those times I build a fire,
stretch out, let whiskey’s
warm apparatus slip into me

the way my idea
about God does.
Toward morning I see

the fine gray arriving
from some dim prairie, the sky
already full of useless tools.
On The Haw River
I drift minutely, thinking of water
as an element
in the fundamental sadness
of late afternoon. Improbably alive,

glad for once to be longing,
I want to slip
in with the trout, in love
with the dim ways of April.