There are two poems, looking back on my history as a poet,
that I think are good.
The others, I'm not so sure about.
This is one of them.
All of you struggle with demons, all of us do.
That's the human condition, and poets
do that in a particular way.
And so this is for all of you, the poets.
You tell me there is a place in the universe for those
who wrestle with demons.
Tell me, what did the devil do with my lost years?
Did he eat them?
Did he fall into a sound sleep, and so
spare a single soul from pain?
I don't think so.
And why, all these years later, must
I forgive him long enough to touch
with love all that was lost?
Forgive myself long enough to write these poems.