Well, I'm very pleased to be here.
Thank you.
I'm going to read poems from this new book manuscript,
except that I would like to start with just a poem
that I finished very recently just because I
would like to try it out.
And I guess it would be one of the lyric poems
you're describing.
It's called "Blue."
"At the border of what is and is not true, there is a light,
the blue of certain late impressionist paintings
or all-night cafes say there is in the former
or the latter a man or a woman waiting for the other.
What matter if she or he does not or does arrive?
What matters is the light, that blue illuminating
dolor wherein time stops completely
at the border of what is and is not true
and where now you are waiting in this late impressionist
painting hanging from the wall of an all-night cafe
in a painting, and so on, and blue under the end
of eternity."