Let's see.
I'm sorry this is a very down reading.
I come here, and I tell you how happy I am to be here.
And then I read you all these depressed, sad poems.
What is one to do?
Here's another.
You poor things.
Go out and party after the reading.
"The Dream."
The dream was long and unhappy.
And whether it ended because of the earliest
birds or my own silent keening or the way that by then
I had given entirely in--
who can say this story was over?
Where else could it go?
Even in dream I knew every part, every fault was my own.
I woke and for one moment blessed this world
where a person can wake from grief, then began to remember.