This is very recent.
In fact, my son Lim and I, a fellow
who was starting a publishing venture said, why don't you
publish a book together?
Well, we thought that was a fine idea.
And so Kim and I were talking about what we might put in it.
And what we were going at whether we'd
identify each other's poems or not, or just
claim them all each of us or what.
And then we thought, finally, we divided it up.
But anyway, we decided we tried it--
We decided that we'd try to write a poem together.
And I was to write a stanza.
And he used to write.
I suppose this is except the people who
know how strange life is.
It's probably be incredible.
But what happened was that we never did really
get together on this.
I think he wrote his part.
I know I wrote my part.
But my part didn't get in the book at all.
So it's a scene.
It's a scene.
And you'll probably see why I thought about this
when it was a father son thing.
A scene.
Grandpa gives me a candy watch, which I slowly eat, slowly
peeling its paper face.
Along our street, a slow wind and curls
the world, widens gutters, takes down trees for the new houses.
Every house, even the doctors dissolves for history.
Some assessor colder than winter takes down the names.
I balance on the curb.
And from three feet high, look up at grandpa to take his hand.
Through the slow wind, we face toward you and stand.