Northern Exposures

for Richard Hugo You hear the roadhouse before you see it, Its four-beat country tunes Amplified like surf through the woods, Silencing bullfrog and red-tailed hawk, Setting beards of moss dancing On dim, indeterminate trees That border two-lane blacktop. Docked tonight, you reveal the badge Of the farmer, that blanched expanse of skin Where cap shades face, babyhood Pallor above the sun-blackened jaw Bulging uneasy with a concrete grin And some inevitable need to weep. Don’t you think we live and breathe In the meantime, in lockstep With dawn, sunset, brawling dawn? Even now, you await secrets worse Than the few known ways a seized sky Will come to survive your pity. But on another far field, celebrated For its arrivals and evictions, you learn To be beautiful, never leading A sensible life, playing ball in the early dark, Fighting for a taste of the sweet spot, In this uncut land, this straight-edged air. Whadya want to know that isn’t yet a mystery Somewhere, a confidential stumble, heat Lightning, a first-rate backseat turndown? So it is that later you track high above Familiar tamarack and ash, beginning The next inaccuracy alone, and again, Remembering that everything east of you Has already happened, on the same cold ground, In a swarm of time, finally spiked home To your surprise, nails flung to the air. And us all thumbs to the hot hammer-licks You hear from the roadhouse before you see it.