12 To Douglas
Tell me today, this moment:
What is real? --
I try to hold my life
On fingertips.
Why did blind Homer show us what to see,
And deaf Beethoven teach us what to hear?
Tell me of those who sleep
With eyes wide open,
And those awake
Who cannot fall asleep
And burn themselves to ash in dark cold moments,
But do not tell me now of those
Who freeze:
Today don't tell me of their stiff numb fingers,
Of ears and eyes and tongues
Still lacking words.
Don't ever tell --
But tell me now of dreaming.
And don't you tell me of your day of birth.
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