I wind the green clock back to life … I set the hands at 2am … I scratch the dog … I unfold his ear and say, You’re a good dog … I tell him I need him, and ain’t that sad … I hear the baby cry … I walk to the kitchen softly in my boots … I heat milk on the stove … I see my shadow on the cupboard … I see my bent reflection in the spoon … I look good … I ask God if I’m a good man … I walk into the black room ... I change the baby … I say, Diapers and wipes, wipers and diaps … I think, Huh … it works both ways … I try to calm her cries … I act like the dog, sniffing at her ear … I make her laugh … I rile her up … I watch her drink the milk, eyes wide blue … I see myself in her … I see my wife and a third, bright person … I hold her to my chest and dance her back to sleep … I think, You’re a good dad … I know that’s not the same as a good man … I think I’ll write a poem … I walk to my desk … I see the front door open, yellow pouring in … I accept the invitation … I walk in lamplight through the park … I walk up the big spruce … I step onto a contrail … I walk the small plane’s path until it lands somewhere in Reno … I am far from home … I have no phone, no money … I am so cold, my hands have gone to sleep … I hear coyotes at their trouble … I feel the duende lick my neck ... Lord, I fear the long walk back … Or do I fear home? … I think it works both ways …
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