IN THE LITERARY MAGAZINE
there was a photo of a poet
whose work I had never read.
He stood in front of a cabinet
full of dishes.
His lines followed, but I never got to read them
because I suddenly understood
without looking at the stanzas
that I would know everything
about his poetry that I needed to know
if only I could reach past the ink and emulsion
deep into the picture
and turn one of those dishes over
to read the mark underneath.
next