"For the Sorrow of a Continent."
Going from one American coast to another,
I saw lonely people sorrowful and angry.
I saw good people, and even those
transmitted the only warmth they had
to the ring on their finger.
And I believe I preserved this sorrowful expression within me
for the sorrow of a continent, just like a train preserves
the memory of a galleon since every message reads me
across my feet.
What I mean is, I'm a political immigrant every trip
I take, always on ground treading water.
I feel like I shouldn't be here and that I'm
standing on the planet diagonally
like those kids drawn on greetings card put out
by UNICEF.