Ninth daythe first daywas SaturdayToday’s againSaturday     cooler          less sunnyI’d like to cut my hairw/borrowed scissors____Here on a rock I see the loondoes not perceive meas a threat. She ate her lunchlooning aroundin circles, going under& coming back, always within12 feet of mebut in water if I approachshe goes under& disappears                    dislikingboat’s vibrationin her elementBut on the ground a mother grouseand 2 young freely walkaround the cabin—they’re not afraidof people, said Gillianthat’s why they get huntedbut we don’t hunt them she said, &I brought you some eggs                  pullet eggsand these purple flowers clustered               on spindly stems—fresh thymeor is itoregano____Cloud opensnight’s mouth                                being written                                in the morningthe sexual words:ordinary nouns, verbsnow I’m stuck on a rockin a storm                       being written                       in a boatunder cobwebsunder the clawof a dead beechwith lush endrunkening cedar fronds                                                         & other ever                                                                       greensthey breathe you in as you approachDidn’t make it to the high bluffswhere a triangle stone isstorm sent me backnow it’s calm but my clothes are weteverything’s wet, anyone saidabout something—the ground? the poemoh cut the bread