The next poem is called the solace
of poetry and part of it's the idea for the poem
came from a concern that I've had for a long time.
When I was a little kid, I figured if I was uncomfortable
at all in life, if I watched people very closely
I would figure out how to live.
If by a certain kind of mimicry I
could penetrate to the mysteries of life
just by watching other people and trying to become them.
And I remember there was a lovely poem
by Robert Muzzy called a confession in which a voyeur is
speaking, a peeping Tom is speaking
and he says something like I only--
his reason for doing this, he says
I only wanted to see how people live not knowing how.
There's something of that in the poem.
The solace of poetry is not the solace of gossip,
although I can guess particulars of your life.
Often from my window seat, I watch two neighbors
breast, cheek and flank that wilderness and something
glowing in the dark like a string of pearls from one mouth
to the other.
As a child, I wanted to be everyone.
I spied on the man delivering milk
and on his counterpart in striped pajamas at his kitchen
table thinking himself alone while the world slept.
Your palms say hello.
It's private.
The child's need to both keep and share
a secret after the lamp is off.
I lay your book aside to watch the old couple undressing
before sleep.
They examine each scar and mark in the body's history.
Something enters their life like water enters a pond at night,
lies in their bed, faceless as a dull beneath the quilt
remembered weight and does not speak.