Hello and welcome to the Daily Poem. I'm Heidi White, and today is Monday, July 5th.

Yesterday, of course, was the 4th of July, or Independence Day. And in honor of this auspicious

occasion, I'm going to read for you a 4th of July poem by American poet painter and essayist John Haynes.

Haynes was born in 1924 and he lived until 2011.

In 1947, he bought 160-acre homestead farm outside of Fairbanks, Alaska.

And he split the time while he was living there between painting and poetry.

And he always said that when his paints froze, he turned to writing.

And so today's poem by John Haynes is called Fourth of July at Santa Anaeuse.

And this is how it goes.

One, under the makeshift arbor of leaves, a hot wind blowing smoke and laughter,

music out of the renegade west, too harsh and loud, many dark faces moved among the

sweating whites.

Two.

Wandering apart from the others, I found an old Indian seated alone on a bench in the flickering shade.

He was holding a dented bucket, three crawfish, lifting themselves from the muddy water, stirred and scraped against the greasy metal.

Three.

The old man stared from his wrinkled darkness across the celebration, unblinking as one might see in the hooded sleep of turtles.

A smile out of the ages of gold and carbon flashed upon his face and vanished,

called away by the sound and the glare around him,

by the lost voice of a child piercing that thronged solitude.

Four, the afternoon gathered distance and depth,

divided in the shadows that broke and moved upon us.

...