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About this poet

Samuel Amadon is the author of The Hartford Book (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2012). He teaches at the University of South Carolina and lives in Columbia, South Carolina

Each H (II)

We are for the park, as we are for
enjoying its proximity to how
enjoying it for itself, as a park, is our

sign we are clearly thinking. On a tangent
as often as of two minds, but
then, perhaps, also another, and yet,

like pillows, I always feel I would be
more, if I could have more, which
makes me ask what gives us

over to giving ourselves, don’t end.
Don’t structure. If structure
is over, we could have had it

done. Like the seriousness become
a better secret as a secret
will gain more for it going on. From it

we would become strangers better
exchanging quarters in
the station, or elevator home to

my interaction with a mother asking her
child a question I happily
answered. We are so happy to know

something. We forget our place. How
winning has more
feeling. Then we count the ways.

From Like a Sea (University of Iowa, 2010). Copyright © 2010 by Samuel Amadon. Used with the permission of the author.

From Like a Sea (University of Iowa, 2010). Copyright © 2010 by Samuel Amadon. Used with the permission of the author.

Samuel Amadon

Samuel Amadon

Samuel Amadon is the author of The Hartford Book (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2012).

by this poet

poem

I am a walker. I follow the sun as it angles
Into the evening on an edge where

A thoroughfare meets a hill of empty houses,
And as it spreads through back roads, I walk

Into nights—imaginary city—into nights
I walk changed, to be changed like a character

In a story I

poem

I felt perfected along the rectangle 
By its ragged side

Fences trees and mist dropping
Some space for the flowers

I set an image in my head where
Bushes in their out of focus

Made a green dearth about the door
I wanted to do a book on

Pages left in the heat or rain

2
poem

I think I think of what I want en masse,
as concrete thinks it wants the overpass—

while wind and broken glass want heavy rains,
Los Angeles I want across the plains.

I hear myself collecting what I’ve caught,
like “in the hospital and you’ve been shot.”

As time so