Got up on a cool morning. Leaned out a window.
No cloud, no wind. Air that flowers held
for awhile. Some dove somewhere.
Been on probation most of my life. And
the rest of my life been condemned. So these moments
count for a lot – peace, you know.
Let the bucket of memory down into the well,
bring it up. Cool, cool minutes. No one
stirring, no plans. Just being there.
His work just keeps speaking to me, over and over again.
For a sampling of other poems by Stafford that I have posted on this blog, click here.
Thank you to Whiskey River for bringing this one to my attention.
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