The poem
Speaking to you this hour these days when I have lost the feather of poetry and the rains of separation surround us tock tock like Go tablets
Everyone has learned to move carefully
'Dancing' 'laughing' 'bad taste' is a memory a tableau behind trees of law
In the midst of love for you my wife's suffering anger in every direction and the children wise as tough shrubs but they are not tough --so I fear how anything can grow from this
all the wise blood poured from little cuts down into the sink
this hour it is not your body I want but your quiet company
it seems impossible to find.