7 6 5 6
If I wrote, what would I write?
If I wrote, what would I write?
That I can’t find my phone?
No, here it is in
my blue-bathrobe pocket.
Looking out from my couch here
onto all points of the
compass—people sad
and crying everywhere,
from Chicago to Maine, to
St. Joseph, Michigan—
people in dire need
of what I can’t give them.
But finding happiness in
each other, as they should.—
How should I not love
my red ankle-tassel?
