1

when i stand around among poets

i am embarrassed mostly,

their long white heads,

the great bulge in their pants,

their certainties.

i don’t know how to do

what i do in the way

that i do it. it happens

despite me and i pretend

to deserve it.

but i don’t know how to do it.

only sometimes when

something is singing

i listen and so far

i hear.

2

when i stand around

among poets, sometimes

i hear a single music

in us, one note

dancing us through the

singular moving world.

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