A spirit of a larger thing, like - yes
America or even tradition or of place -
flows out of the smallest incidents and
the spice of each human's will.
Born a New Englander, the reference
is granite but it's not without
hawks and it's not without
clover.
Not only
is there no undoing the history
of family and place, but it does not rest.
It grows into the spaces and flavors, yes,
the spirit of small significances to follow.
There is not a thing i can give him. If, at 1:30 am last night, you looked in the windows of my parents' house, you would have seen ideath baking a pie. A pie will not take up space. A pie has no pesky duration.
He wants to believe i have talents. Here is a talent: finding four leaf clovers. This is what fills the space in the card-poem, and with it i wish whatever good luck might be for him.