3:14 PM
This blue pen I am holding
feels carved from a glacier so
my fingers are sad
which is a good way to begin
the me from 1998 says
to the me who of sadness
like everything is so tired
and the face of Nazim Hikmet
looks down he says
live like a squirrel
and the earth will someday
be an empty walnut maybe
with a little blue light
still in it like this pen
which was not carved but
made somewhere
I often wonder
whether anyone
from the kitchen where
we used to talk all night
about the freedom of the future
is still alive or have they all
like me gone into the business
of naming breezes
I named one sorrow magnet
and another dangerous agreement
like a tree I cried to the sun
I am your lost child of gold
but the sun said no
inch your way back
to the forest
in a thousand years
the shadows will tell you
who you were green one
