For Gavin
Leaning against a leaky lav-
This morning on the 8:04
Express, hurtling toward another
Day in New York, I read the piece
You sent last night. I felt so sad.
The sun seemed bright and pointless—
A single knitting needle stuck
Through a big ball of orange yarn.
I’ve nothing to look forward to—
There’s nothing on my schedule—
Except the poem I will write
For you. I’m always happy to
Write poems. But I’m afraid
Art is not enough. No
Matter what I say, or do,
That happy feeling never lasts.
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