And then the other poem I want to read from The Lice
is one of three poems that are in the middle of the book
that it sort of turns around.
This one's called "The Child."
"Sometimes, it is inconceivable that I should be the age I am.
Almost always, it is at a dry point in the afternoon.
I cannot remember what I am waiting
for and, in my astonishment, I can hear the blood crawling
over the plains, hurrying on to arrive before dark.
I try to remember my faults to make sure, one after the other.
But it is never satisfactory.
The list is never complete.
At times, night occurs to me so that I think
I have been struck from behind.
I remain perfectly still, feigning death,
listening for the assailant.
Perhaps, at last, I even sleep a little, for later I have moved.
I open my eyes.
The lantern fish have gone home in darkness.
On all sides, the silence is unharmed.
I remember, but I feel no bruise.
Then there are the stories.
And after a while, I think something else must connect
them besides just this, me.
I regard myself starting the search,
turning corners, and remembered metropoli.
I pass skin withering in gardens that I see now
are not familiar.
But I have lost even the thread I thought I had.
If I could be consistent, even in destitution,
the world would be revealed.
While I can, I try to repeat what I believe.
Creatures, spirits, not this posture.
I do not believe in knowledge as we know it, but I forget.
The silence coming at intervals out of the shell of names,
it must be all one person, really,
coming at different hours for the same thing.
If I could learn the word for Yes,
it could teach me questions.
I would see that it was itself every time.
And I would remember to say, take it up like a hand,
and go with it.
This is, at last, yourself.
The child that will lead you."
[APPLAUSE]