Welcome

The poem

if you believe nothing is always what's left after a while, as I did, If you believe you have this collection of ungiven gifts, as I do (right here behind the silence and the averted eyes) If you believe an afternoon can collapse into strange privacies- how in your backyard, for example, the shyness of flowers can be suddenly overwhelming, and in the distance the clear goddamn of thunder personal, like a voice, If you believe there's no correct response to death, as I do; that even in grief (where I've sat making plans) there are small corners of joy If your body sometimes is a light switch in a house of insomniacs If you can feel yourself straining to be yourself every waking minute If, as I am, you are almost smiling . . .