Issue 130, Spring 1994
To Aleksander Wat
You knew how things open,
a flower, a jail, an eye
and at the very last, a hand.
It is already evening when the hand
opens. The streetlights have come on,
people absorbed into their coats
and scarves hurry along the street.
No one speaks, not many even
look around them, they spare themselves
the torments of community.