There are two poems, then, that I want to read about poets.
One, a contemporary, an exact contemporary,
a poet whom I loved as a man and revered, and still do,
as a poet, James Wright.
It's a very short poem.
He died a few years ago.
"News comes that a friend far away is dying now.
I look up and see small flowers appearing
in spring grass outside the window
and can't remember their name."