Someday, when I am alone in your office,
maybe with my good friend, Carol Dombenek,
reading over your books, those complicated cases,
struggles of individuals, networks of events,
busy intervals between masses of detail,
relations of people to people, groups, arbitrations,
all possibilities, the money tugging back and forth endlessly,
converted into fuel, journeys to the moon, vacations,
educations, the atmosphere and structure of your children;
watching the gulls plough up the horizon,
my mind sieved by the foghorns like a fog,
adding and subtracting these perpetual human items,
it will come to me, your identity, at once,
and I shall take care of it forever afterwards.

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