Love on the Streets: Selected and New Poems

Two Weeks

• 105 two weeks What do you dream, little boy oohing, aahing, asking deep from your sleep on my breast I edit an old essay over your still-foetal form, having come from the Paris streets, the archaeological dig under the Louvre, about the Mysterious I, write to a poet friend asking why she casts herself in the third person. What do you dream, Little Boy? whistling, snorting, hiccupping, asking. Have you returned to that place from which you were born, or are you already in third person? What do you dream, brand new One, shuddering, sighing, suddenly staring. Now asking, now telling, now protesting in a language only my exile as when I’m out on the streets keeps me from ...