are not comfortable beside mine. On the bus,
pulled forward by gentle inertia,
a hundred of us sway, or sigh, is that it,
what we do in the moment, in that air
that is too cool. Listen,
I want to say to you, dear heart,
imperfect flesh, blue eyes,
abused elbow and plaintive knees—
listen, I want to breathe in
the world that is falling apart.
I am too old to learn
your name in any language
other than this one. I am