My heart became a drunken runt On the day I sunk in this shunt, To tap me clean Of all the wonder And the sorrow I have seen, Since I left my home: My home, on the old Milk Lake, Where the darkness does fall so fast, It feels like some kind of mistake (just like they told you it would; Just like the Tulgeywood). When I came into my land, I did not understand: Neither dry rot, nor the burn pile, Nor the bark-beetle, nor the dry well, Nor the black bear. But there is another, Who is a little older. When I broke my bone, He carried me up from the riverside. To spend my life In spitting-distance Of the love that I have known, I must stay here, in an endless eventide. And if you come and see me, You will upset the order. You cannot come and see me, For I set myself apart. But when you come and see me, In California, You cross the border of my heart. Well, I have sown untidy furrows Across my soul, But I am still a coward, Content to see my garden grow So sweet & full Of someone else's flowers. But sometimes I can almost feel the power. Sometimes I am so in love with you (Like a little clock That trembles on the edge of the hour, Only ever calling out "Cuckoo, cuckoo"). When I called you, You, little one, In a bad way, Did you love me? Do you spite me? Time will tell if I can be well, And rise to meet you rightly. While, moving across my land, Brandishing themselves Like a burning branch, Advance the tallow-colored, Walleyed deer, Quiet as gondoliers, While I wait all night, for you, In California, Watching the fox pick off my goldfish From their sorry, golden state-- And I am no longer Afraid of anything, save The life that, here, awaits. I don't belong to anyone. My heart is heavy as an oil drum. And I don't want to be alone. My heart is yellow as an ear of corn, And I have torn my soul apart, from Pulling artlessly with fool commands. Some nights I just never go to sleep at all, And I stand, Shaking in my doorway like a sentinel, All alone, Bracing like the bow upon a ship, And fully abandoning Any thought of anywhere But home, My home. Sometimes I can almost feel the power. And I do love you. Is it only timing, That has made it such a dark hour, Only ever chiming out, "Cuckoo, cuckoo"? My heart, I wear you down, I know. Gotta think straight, Keep a clean plate; Keep from wearing down. If I lose my head, just where am I going to lay it? (For it has half-ruined me, To be hanging around, Here, among the daphne, Blooming out of the big brown; I am native to it, but I'm overgrown. I have choked my roots On the earth, as rich as roe, Here, down in California.)