Soft like moss

 Soft like moss

I feel my presence here

Splayed out low and rootless.

In my dreams we're playing death —

Ducks and geese circling,

Roses and ashes and ashes.

I can't imagine being at the birth of anything,

Not that I didn't try.

Tonight a voice from the Ivory Coast :

"Do you believe in reincarnation?"

Is there a knowledge too impossible to know ?

You're joy has seldom been my joy

Not that I didn't try to know.