Spring 1966 • Vol. XXVIII No. 2 PoetryMarch 1, 1966 |

The Bearings Game

Seven years and halfa cornstalk high, Iused to run a randomrout eyes aground allover a quarter in corn, tillin a green snarl of snakesand ladders I raced with timeout of mind, trying to keepthe furrows unfamiliar, to undothe plowers' plan. Soon I spelledmyself into a hazel of hunches,one who could, without tellingon tips of token trees,home out where I came in. When all true notions worked,then home was a happening,and where I simply stooda little unlikelihood.

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