Your Poems

I will read your poems,
the ones you tell me
give your life meaning.

The words describe
what you are doing here,
do they?

They tell me how
you got here,
and where you
are headed next,
do they?

What is so stupid
about others who
have not come
to see your way?

Nothing easy seems
to satisfy me either,
no matter how
delightful the stories.

The answers to the
questions never get
affirmed, so I, too,
write poems,
but I don’t fight
over the meaning
of them.

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