I am left on shore when the barge
shoves off. I am the man in iron shoes, tamping
down wet concrete. I am a dog
in the pound, I am orchards oppressed
by rain, bird feathers, blood,
refrigeration, oar
lock, ice. When he tries
to be absent, I m like Whitman fallen
in his locked bedroom, unable to move
or to call out. I don't stand
for anything, back to the locked
sodden room of the kid
that I was once, whirring,
passed over,
out