No Help for That | Jackie Clark

No outside glance.
Footfalls in competition with duration.
Our green cherries hang generously from above.
The individual speaks of further roads,
unconcerned with one description or another.
My hands heavy and uneventful,
either cupped or isolated,
weighted with impression or uninterest.
These things take time to figure out.
For instance, the way the shingles overlap,
the way they sit across what under it protects.
Sensibility has everything to do with it,
driving through beach front towns made of stone.
The brown pebbles of nature reserves and insects,
houses left to stand alone.