I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
--like kings of old, or like a miracle.
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,