Poet,
you whom I hoped
to reach by writing,

you beyond the multicolored
tangle of telephone wires,

you, with your white paper soul
trampled in transit,

you with kaleidoscope stamps
& black cancellations,

you who put your finger on my heart as I slept,
you whom I jostle in elevators,
you whom I stare at in subways,
you shopping for love in coffee shops..

I write to you
& someone else answers:
the man who hates his wife
& wants to meet me,
the girl who mistakes me for mother...

My strange vocation
is to be paid for my nightmares.

I write to you,
my love,
& someone else
always answers.

SAS