This is the first section from my projected new book.
It's called "Entries."
And most of the poems reflect living
in Cortaro, which is just up the highway right by the game
preserve.
And also the fact that you travel around a lot.
They're done as diary entries and they're not
the day of the event nor the day the poem was written.
The entries refer simply to the entries from my notebook.
In other words, when I thought about the poem
the possibility of using the material and these dates
just refer to that.
And then with my great regard for titles,
there slipped out on the side and the poems
go from 6/1/70 through 12/31 and there's 21 of them.
They also reflect-- well, I mean I didn't write any poems
for over a year and a half.
So obviously when I started again
there'd be a new style and a different feeling about things.
The poem called "Slopes 6/1/70."
There are beautiful things like what
possessed us to climb so high on an evening's walk, which
will linger long after us undressing on a flat rock
the slope of the mountain silhouetted in the waning sun.
Balancing ourselves, your breasts fit under my chest.
The rock fortress on top falls into shadow
and I enter that zone, pass through your cunt
as an opening.
Hand's running the slopes of belly and hips,
rise to the vantage point where my voice
is as soft as your inner folds.
The view embraces us reaching, out in all directions
as we hover on the top of a ridge fall stumble
down the twisting trail and the dark, not meeting anyone.