I hear a man laugh
As he talks to his son
On the phone
He has ***** shoes
And faded tattoos
And laughs with his son
On the phone

A Black man
Sits in a blue chair
Writing
Lost in thought
He looks at people
But doesn't see them
And writes
About the people
He doesn't see

A woman
In another city
Misses me
She tells me that
She says she misses me
During the day
And she sleeps
At night
And always
Misses me

A poem
Descends on me
And says
Write me
It's time for me
To be born
Right now
No, not later
Now
The world is ready
And I write it

I watch
A young man pray
He utters
Beautiful Arabic words
That I know
And prostrates
Eastward
His prayer rug
Is worn
Where his feet stand
And forehead rests
It is teal and gold
I don't know the fabric
There is peace
On that rug

I listen
To songs
I've heard before
I listen
And am not here
I'm there again
With those smells
And hazy mornings
I listen close
And hear
My dead friend's
Familiar smile