"Tin."
So now we're into the new books.
New poems.
"Tin."
"I studied much and remembered little.
But the world is generous.
It kept offering figs and cheeses.
Never mind that soon I'll have to give it all back--
the world, the fix.
To be a train station of existence is no small matter.
It doesn't need to be Grand Central or Haydarpaşa Station.
The engine shed could be low, windowed with coal dust
under a slat shingled roof.
It could be tin, another mystery bandaged
with rivets and rubies, leaking cold and heat
in both directions as the Earth does."