AGAINST THE ENCROACHING GRAYS I held up the femur of a grasshopper some blue air fell over me what I want is less clear to me now than it was then to be loved to the end without ruth or recrimination to forgive myself as others have forgiven me to enjoy the birds with little bones at the farmers’ market I still see his truck from time to time notices on utility poles for a lost dog answering to Scout sometimes I sit in a café pretending to read but knowing I want to be the one to find Scout instead I do what I have done I wake up and join the struggle of the trees to find a way through and then a dark clot of poetry breaks off (C.