How can I imagine the people
who will read my poems
when I couldn't imagine the people
I would meet in my life?

That every step is a step away,
a step further into the strange,
is a condemnation of others,
not a criticism of self.

Have I gotten as far as I can get
in my exploration of what I can do
is a question you could ask yourself
any day of your life.  And probably shouldn't.

You wouldn't have to give me anything
if you let me take what I need.