All my friends are homeless
They do not even have tents
Were I to seek a safe place
I would run nights lost
Ice pelting my face
Sent the wrong way
Whenever I ask,
But where does anybody go—
One sky is always above
Lie down below trees
Be your own guest
Give yourself up…
Under this attentive pine
Glistening in the sun
Take your time at noon
The planes will drone by soon

This Issue

May 31, 1973