I like to write when there is no light.
The words that I write merge with
	the blur of night.
Since I can't see, I can forget corrections
And just write to save this moment
	without light.
-------------------
What I would not say, if I did not write

I write these words with lemon juice -
	the words fading as I write them
	and living only in the moving of 
my right hand.
My hand feels good to write this.
It does not care who reads these words.
It only cares to write.
-------------------
Who cares about the paralysis of writing?
Only the eye that sees can criticize.
Since I can't see what I write,
I write as I please!
--------------------
How can a few characters
Carved on rock or wood
a thousand years ago
move men beyond tears?
The enemy realizes, after all,
We are human.
We carve our time's characters on rocks.
			5:42 AM
---------------------
The table is turning blue.
Without color, there is no focusing.
The words do not appear in the center of my vision.
Only the hand knows it is writing.
It is satisfied.
			5:46 AM
----------------------

What luxury to be able to write
and not see what you have written.
What freedom!
What delight, this writing in the night!
			5:48 AM
---------------------
Poetry is a contract
I promise to write as few words as possible.
You promise to listen.
			5:56 AM
--------------------
	Distance Learning

I download half a ream of articles a day,
But I am intent on the single
sheet of paper on which you have
written me a note.
------------------
The poem records the freight train as
it comes down the track.
The steam whistles, the engineer hangs
out the window,
The engine gets wheels turning on the rails,
the couplings between the cars locking
them together into a unitary whole.
The poem stops.
The freight train goes.
			6:06 AM
			
			Brandywine
			9/26/2000