I Will Read Myself a Poem
I will read myself a poem
in the darkness, in the night;
I will burn a candle to light these pages
until the letters burn and curl away.
In the rain I will shelter
this book under my coat,
and bend over and with my finger
trace lines breathing comfort
and fire, and sweet absurdity
from the hot, hollow darkness
between my chest and my lapel.
I will read myself a poem
on the sand, by the water.
I will let the wind turn my pages
and the waves whisper verses;
I will let the sun burn my forehead
and I will not look up
until I’m blinded by the whiteness
of paper scorching in the sun.
I will read myself a poem
in the morning, when the sky
glows fresh and silver, and my eyes are bleary
with sleep, and the faces in my dreams
still linger in my thoughts;
I will watch the sun rising
through a sheet of ink and paper
and read myself a poem
until the break of day.
