And lastly, let me read the title poem from the book.
Again, this is a surrealistic poem that jumps around a bit,
although the imagery in it is not stark.
It's not tremendously dramatic.
It's a poem about, I guess, in the end
a poem about rejecting fantasy in some way.
Living one's life, freeing oneself.
It's called "Looking for Jonathan."
Before sunrise, the sky whitened.
I said to myself, "Whatever troubles you, leave it."
Then we're speeding into the fields, corn, white houses,
buses at daybreak--
the same eyes we've brought along before.
But the yellow light looked in at us--
that discomfiture; give it here.
Oh, I knew what had been planned, but where?
And in whose name?
Nonfiction, happiest man ran alongside, then right-angled,
"See you," into the white woods.
We followed, of course, on foot.
There, various women-- some I knew or had known--
were dancing, filling a clearing.
The pond-- we swam in the old way,
lit the green leaves to grow warm.
Our smoke rose into the sun.
When I saw America, she had danced all night.
She was chalk white, leaning on her husband's arm.
I could see the sun.
The orange hometown coming.
I leaned honestly into my own reflection.
I had no more stories of God.