I'm going to read a couple of more poems from Otherwise
Elsewhere, and then I'm going to read some new poems.
So one of the things that I wanted
to do more of in this book, was to kind of
say, yes, to pleasure.
It's called "Plural Happiness."
My wife's name is Michaela.
"Plural Happiness"
"A curtain bellying like a pregnant cloud,
warm white light refracted through a tumbler
of peat-smoked scotch.
A scorcher of a day cooling and, with stupendous
berries to eat in lieu of supper,
the scoffed pipe box of blueberries
chased by a half a cantaloupe and Maytag blue cheese spread
across the remains of last night's baguette.
A plural happiness.
I feel encourage for all within range.
Even the hang-gliding error that sent Jesus spiraling down
to Earth seems a commitment.
Tomorrow we'll go to Alison's wedding, who at age 2 and 3/4
attended our wedding 26 years ago,
her blonde curls a mystery to be held up and photographed
between her mother and father, dark haired Diane and Larry.
In the riddle of our recessive genes,
once in a while something surprising
waits for anybody out and about.
Like hearing for the first time a blind preacher
or waking in a Gros Vent campground south of Jenny Lake,
the best happiness is always accidental, and why not?
I was going to say something about boundless back there,
or was it getting gassed, I meant?
But that isn't it exactly either.
Though it is pretty close.
Close enough.
And real.
Real enough, and sure.
God it felt good to heat water and primus
stove while yawning and to wash my face in cold Gros Vent
and love Michaela."