Out-Side

The grower's child and the picker's child want to run away They want to go to Duluth, the most exotic place they know We fear he'll get amoralous and ruin us, ruin us Here the rain is falling, straight as pokers But never piercing the laconic plane of air A sudden wind will blow it sideways, straight into eyes It is too warm to stay in one place, but to follow -- I make up my mind before the gate hits me on the way out They call for me, but I run, I run I've run Weeds underfoot buoy me to the sky My age doesn't matter now, nor my circumstance Only my good feet, my big lungs to take in the blue My calves I know the laws of the universe but there's no reaction Not here or now