“I know what you’re thinking,” I say to the dog.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I say to the tyrant’s photo.
“I know,” I say to my hammer.
And sometime last night
I dreamt I was alone
On an island.
I said “I know,”
To a fistful of grubs.
This morning
I write “I know”
When Longinus asks—
What are we to say
of inquiries and questions?
Of pleading eyes
And voiceless inquiries
He said little.
Perhaps he tried
But there’s a lacuna
Equivalent
To about three pages.
