Liz Taylor’s Lovers – for Ted Joans

he wants desperately to
do different things
he stretches out his arms
& the leaves come to him

he is a poet

he puts out his american hands
& grain grows from their 
fingertips
like the fine hairs of his whitened
beard

he wants to do things differently

he turns grain into loaves of bread
& offers it to beggars
they turn & run
for in truth 
it is a different kind of hunger
they seek to quell

fine hairs @ 
the end of his chin
are like whitecaps on a 
winter sea

he was born to see things differently

smoke & shadow
            are what he is made of
                         he draws the leaves to his breast
                              as if they were his children
                     he expels air & like the worm 
                                      he was born

   born to do things differently
             desperately wanting to do different things

he gathers himself in
smoke & shadow
like fine-grained hair &
whitening seas
form his dangerous skin

he draws the air to his breath
as if it were his woman
he looks but sees nothing
his palms are dark but empty

no loaves
no grain
leaves heaped about his
feet

he is a poet
& truth 
the beggar 
asks him 
for some bread.