1

when i stand around among poets
i am embarrassed mostly,
their long white heads,
the great bulge in their pants,

their certainties.

i don’t know how to do
what i do in the way
that i do it. it happens
despite me and i pretend

to deserve it.

but i don’t know how to do it.
only sometimes when 
something is singing
i listen and so far

i hear.

2

when i stand around
among poets, sometimes
i hear a single music
in us, one note
dancing us through the 
singular moving world.