I’d rather write the truest book
  for just one man to read

Than draft that one of mass appeal
  to blush but never bleed

I’d rather speak that one great line
  to a canyon vast and wide

Than forever to recite mundane
  what an audience will comply

I’d rather die a poet’s death
  than an actors out on loan

I’d rather live within myself
  than in crowds where I’m alone

I’d rather give my last few breaths
  to that child at my knee

And leave with him one word of hope
  —that he may then set free

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)