Driven, Keats Said
Harold Bowes

Overtaking the farm truck
I see a windrower on the flatbed
Its steering wheel
Unmoving and isolated
Against the dimming sky

Standing with the dead woman
Next to
She wasn't dead
Not then

I look up at this black wheel.
The air surrounds it

It was a performance
To stand next to the dead woman

While the steering wheel
Inside the car, with me,
Is as black as the other

She was young like my daughter
I didn't know my wife
Not then
Next to

As black as the tires that carry us

The lot where we stood had a west side and an east side
There were houses all around
The ocean was on the west side
She came from a blue house

Under my control
But directing me
Just as surely

Walked up to me
The blackberries surrounded us
Their leaves like torn pages

You are that way
You are different
You wake in the morning
You sleep
At night

The blue house like a blue boat




Clusters of lights
On dark hillsides