A Hill in Virginia


In this rude world
Memory pertains
In bald things,
Of promises skipped over, violence
Or accidents of kissing.
Read within the deep patina
Of the old stump
Of a chainsawed black walnut
Its circular
History from sex to ruin;

Look where
Cracked and spattered chunks
Of cold quartz
Stuck in mud
Glitter up from a dull hill.
Downhill, the wrecked car:
A punched-in windshield
Sags whole,
An afterimage of collision,
Brilliant with sky.