I lived in Mississippi 
when seventy-five cents cut
my hair twice a month. 

I was a boy then
and boys stalked pastures 
through lush trees
to camp where the mist was heavy. 

My body hung damp with sweat, 
summer kissed the trees.
One day 

was cool, the trees losing leaf 
were gray, the sky clouded steel. 
I found a fence tracing a line 

of cedars, rust coated brown wire 
above brown leaves ground 
on the forest floor. Beyond 

were woods and fields rolled sparse
with cattle, leaf sparse trees,
green grass to the gray horizon. 

The future was that landscape
and my life a floating cloud 
shadow on the grassy ground . . . 

                                   My door 
slammed finger bent since seven; 
knee scar from summer camp; beard 
hair and nails that grow, are cut, 
grow. All these confirm and show 

I am the same: 
                                     I change 
                                                             I change