Letter
for Richard Howard

Men are running across a field
pens full from their pockets
people out walking will pick them up
It is one of the ways letters are
written

How things fall to other!
The self no longer belonging to me,
but asleep in a stranger’s shadow,
now clothing the stranger,
now leading him off.
It is noon as I write to you
someone’s life has come into my hands.
The sun whitens the buildings
It is all I have,
I give it all to you.
Yours,