It had greater intension than this line
but really never lives up to it
Very few live up to their intentions
And this poem is already drying up
That is why this poem is going to begin again
here and be written on fine Chinese paper
to enhance its imagery of someone
who has found it crinkled and stuffed
into a hole in the attic. But that is not
better than the imagination of someone
who wonders about how it got there
being written by a robed monk
and stuffed into the shirt sleeve of his lover
as he was sailing to America
fleeing a revolution in the red hot night sky
and sailing across the expanse of a dark green ocean
This is where the poem is lost
and then hidden for no one ever to see
in a hole of a dry hot attic
until someone like you finds it
and begins to read and
seeing the stars in a clear blue night
thinks that this is a good place to start.
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