Those tender leaves worn as earrings,

his eyelid closes and remembers,

are these leaves closing across the broad avenues

on a drive by the shore, sunshine off the lake's silver

another face of Hermes' coin, a dream of passage into a thaw

So what he thought was rain in spring is snow

covering rocky graves open in the fields of poppies

and the river propelled forward by its filaments of fish

is her memory twinned with now and now of a drowning pulse.

Truth

Ends without punctuation

....

Things are Simply gone

People try to glorify It

Hot, still, barren

....

Ask for nothing & it all comes to you

....

You don't have A goal in mind

Something you Want to see

Trying to get away

....

Where did that part Of my life go?

....

Object at center of memory

Glorified like treasure

....

Conditional

Repeated

Remember Not father or Grandma

But the things

....

Who talks in this poem?

*Collage of marginalia scattered across many pages in a second hand volume of Philip Levine's poems....to get self through a dry spell