Dead Man's Float. Jim Harrison

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      dislike the snow but at least he’s alive.

      He loved Cuba and Brazil for their music which

      we don’t have much of here. Please God, save him.

      I even pray for Keats that he won’t die

      so young but get another thirty years or so

      to write poems in Rome. He likes

      sitting with my girlfriend on the Spanish

      Steps. Can I trust him? Probably not

      but I want more of his poems so I’ll overlook

      his behavior. And of course Caravaggio

      the king of painters must live longer,

      God. Why create a great painter

      then let him die early?

A Ballad of Love and Death about Elsa

      The ambulance driver told me in a bar

      about the car accident — Elsa’s head torn off

      and her eyes stayed open.

      I went to the site with a bouquet of flowers.

      The road’s shoulder was short green grass and along

      the fence there were primroses and California

      poppies. In the field a brown-and-white cow

      watched me wander around. I wondered

      how long Elsa could see, and what.

      I found a patch of blood-crisp grass

      where her head must have rested

      surrounded by shards of windshield.

      She was a fine gardener with a sweet,

      warm voice.

Molly the Brave

      Molly was the bravest.

      In April she would swing out

      over the river on a rope

      tied to an elm branch. There was still

      ice along the bank and one day

      her body was found down by the weir

      with a bruised head, which meant she hit ice.

      One summer evening she hugged me in her wet

      black bathing suit after I brought her a milk shake.

      My blood became hot and moved in all directions.

      When we caught frogs to eat their legs

      she said, “We are animals.” And on the hill

      by the river we illegally picked trillium.

      All the boys wanted to marry her.

      We kept putting the wildflowers she loved

      on her grave. More than sixty years

      later I see clearly that no one gets over anything

      least of all Molly by the river,

      swinging up through the air —

      a bird.

Report from Valencia

      The girl ran across the cemetery

      with the wind at her back looking

      for the empty grave she commissioned. She ran

      the same speed as the wind so that the air

      around her was still. She threw

      herself weeping into the empty hole

      screaming to be covered with soil.

      Four boys who had been smoking dope

      threw handfuls of dirt on her

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