Now I Must Wait And Be Still

I Say, Father, The Years Have Brought Me Here, Still Your Son, They Have Brought Me To A Life I Cannot Understand.

I Have A Sense That Many Americans, Especially Those Like Me With European Or Foreign Parents, Feel They Have To Invent Their Families Just As They Have To Invent Themselves.

Now I Think Poetry Will Save Nothing From Oblivion, But I Keep Writing About The Ordinary Because For Me It's The Home Of The Extraordinary, The Only Home.

I Find You In These Tears, Few, Useless And Here At Last. Don't Come Back.

I Write What's Given Me To Write.