Lens enlarging these letters beyond all meaning yet you read on You are reading this poem through your failing sight, the thick In the boredom and fatigue of the young who are counted out,Ĭount themselves out, at too early an age. I know you are reading this poem by fluorescent light Of eyes met and unmeeting, of identity with strangers. I know you are reading this poem in a waiting-room While you wait for the newscast from the intifada. Of the television screen where soundless images jerk and slide I know you are reading this poem by the light I know you are reading this poemĪs the underground train loses momentum and before Where the bedclothes lie in stagnant coils on the bedīut you cannot leave yet. In a room where too much has happened for you to bear On a gray day of early spring, faint flakes drivenĪcross the plains' enormous spaces around you. Standing up in a bookstore far from the ocean In the lassitude of a building faded to quiet Of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window XIII (Dedications) I know you are reading this poem
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