Everything is a thing; the poet
discovers the idea the first time
he writes a good poem, the lover,
when she glimpses the truth: all love
is the same. It hurts to let go
of your personhood and your pride;
you are a thing there feeling a thing inside.
Do you want me to go on?
Someone else’s expertise
will bring you to your knees.
Imagination puts things together
to arrive at what you might say
is an insight: it happened yesterday
and now whatever you are is not the same.
A thing happened. You can’t blame
this or that person; they did not sing.
Or, if they did, it was nothing but a thing.
It was a thing. It was a thing.
It was a thing.
The virtuoso noticed how things relate
and how a certain thing
makes a certain thing wait.