Of “the self” one may ask
“What’s the answer to this or that”
And hope for refinement
I think that’s right
But as always, twilight
And destiny have me
By the hair—
Don’t pretend
You don’t know You know
Imagine tonight
When you stretch sleepily
At a window, seeing
In a glance
A handful of crows
Resting on a wire
Wings ruffling
And you recall the child’s prayer
if I die before I wake
Then see what you can do without poems
Planet of the Blind 