I just want to read a poem.
In most of my readings I always like
to read a poem by somebody else.
And this is a poem written by a friend of mine
who actually was a Wall Street man.
He spent most of his life on Wall Street
making lots of money.
But now he's a poet.
And he and I are exchanging ideas for poetry
and this is one of the poems he sent me and I'm working
with him on it.
It's called "Winter Morning, Holding my Wife."
Concave and concave, we will someday
be curves to sure brushstrokes.
We are dim and naked under flannel, calm,
it's first light and quiet.
We lie like crocodiles in silt, ignorant of our necessities,
holding, being held.
There are no baby smells here while we grow older in his--
this sunrise, ours is a grave embrace.
As we once prayed beside our beds, so now
we lay us down to dream of rising suns on long horizons,
making cradles for our souls' warmth and warmth.
Small breaths back and forth.
Here is what we know.