“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.