Now, I finish with a poem called, "Flute."
"Flute," thank you for being here.
Enjoyed it a lot.
This is from last spring.
It's a refrain.
You can't really see it, but at the end of the poem
the word "flute" takes over the page,
and it should really dribble off the page,
but I can't render that with my voice.
I mention Hopkins.
That's Gerard Manley.
"Flute."
"I feel heavy, and the thought of flute lightens
me, flute, flute.
The smell has a throat.
The fox drinks far away, flute, flute.
Hot summer nights the man across the street,
plays from the roof, flute, flute.
Last night on TV, I saw a baby being born and cried,
flute, flute, flute, flute, flute.
That woman pushed.
The head came out just right, flute, flute.
She stroked her husband saying to him, Alan,
I'm so happy, flute, flute.
Hopkins, the Jesuit, said, I am so happy,
three times as he died, flute, flute.
On my sometimes too heavy street,
I think of losing the body, flute, flute.
These are my births for now, and now, again, I
am lighter, flute, flute, flute, flute, flute, flute."
I can't do it.
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]