I live on the ordinary margins.
And not in any marginal way, no,
in quite an ordinary way.
I sit down easily in an ordinary day,
feel the ordinariness down to my common bones.
I do not desire obscurity or anonymity.
I’m like you, a bit of attention is nice.
But I could never claim a cutting edge.
That ledge is so crowded these days.
And everyone else is thinking outside the box.
No, I’m quite leafless in the winter,
and a common shade of green in summer.
And I’m not fond of a long Latin phrase thrown in,
or poetry with abstruse allusions to arcane myths
that parts me from the soil or the suffering
of my neighbour or the mercy of my friend.
Of course the request of my attendance
to the gowned procession, will not come.
So is it any wonder that I can’t stop looking at you?
In you I desire nothing but my effacement.
Nothing but to blend into your unbroken bones.