It’s 3:23 in the morning
and I can’t sleep
because my great great grandchildren
ask me in my dreams
what did you do while the Planet was plundered?
what did you do when the Earth was unravelling?
What did you do
once
you
knew?
... I want just this consciousness reached
by people in range of secret frequencies.
floating indifferent in eddies of
rooftop air, circling the black
chimney-cowls,
a spring night entered
my mind through the tight-closed window,
wearing
a loose Russian shirt of
light silk.
For this, then,
that slanting
line was left, that crack, the pane
never replaced.