POEMS
ROUTE WITH NO NUMBER
If
you want to come after me for any reason
I have left money in the bread-box,
Heart in the ice-box
And in the mail-box, around the key,
A handkerchief for good-byes.
When you come to the end of the Avenue of Promises
And the dead bird falls from the tree
Tum away: it is the far fork.
At the Turnstile of the Hesitants I have left
A ticket for you in a little bee-hole at eye level.
The toll keeper is not honest but he
is
Cowardly and he has no legs.
Then in the empty boulevard with its view
Of
the revolving hills you will see no car-tracks _
But you will hear the sound of a street-car and discover
That the road is moving under your feet, it is
Not bad: rows of portraits on either side
Like cell windows along a corridor, and
Your shadow ducking its head as it passes.
Oh it's passable, and besides I contrive
As
I always did, to keep thinking
Of improvements, for instance
The other day ducks went over on their creaking wings
So I thought, "In the future there will be
No more migration, only travel,
