Young

A thousand doors agowhen I was a lonely kidin a big house with fourgarages and it was summeras long as I could remember,

I lay on the lawn at night,clover wrinkling over me,the wise stars bedding over me,my mother's window a funnelof yellow heat running out,my father's window, half shut,an eye where sleepers pass,and the boards of the housewere smooth and white as waxand probably a million leavessailed on their strange stalksas the crickets ticked togetherand I, in my brand new body,which was not a woman's yet,told the stars my questionsand thought God could really seethe heat and the painted light,elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.