the way the oatmeal crunches

is it the blueberries I am remembering

                            stone cut

  statements for turning over

it is the sky, isn't it,

      becoming the sea

as a car parks in front of our house

    a woman takes a pole from her trunk

       stops in sunlight to look at us

             walks next door     to work

  it must be Tuesday   the garden

the earth   as mountains

         rises as the sky falls

  a widow remembering a name

     is it the conversation of two automobiles

           passing each other

   on a narrow crescent

      where the white car parked

    not slight this breeze

                             that pushes

        even the empty frames

of large deciduous trees

        out of the way

how would you say  not straight

           the road

I took everywhere I wanted to go

          with me when I went

I stayed everywhere

      I had been