01 April 2008
A poem for Claude
Which poem would you have loved next? Which one
Would have gotten you out of your chair,
Impatiently turning through pages so fine
I would see the pink in your hands? And the blue
Inside of your veins. And the black of each printed
Letter. Somehow it would all come together.
You’d push your now-wild hair to one side
Until you found it: Your latest treasure.
And in one of the half-dozen languages you read,
You’d read it, translating for my benefit,
Your finger at rest on the text
Like you’re taking its pulse. Like what else is there.
This poem you would have loved next.
Its heart beats, somewhere.