Freedom
iii.
To The Guy At The Poetry Reading Who Ran Into My Eye:
First of all, I didn’t know exactly how to address you, so let’s just
say Ben.
And second,
I didn’t mean to stare in the first place, but
there you were:
in the way of my eye.
Listening to
the poet,
which I was supposed to be listening to, too
but got caught up
in watching you.
I wanted to see
how the words got from the poems
into you. So I could sneak in behind
and
explore two or maybe three
parts of you, like
nowhere near
that tattoo,
and the hand holding
your notebook, and the space
someone else might have missed
below your knee–
But just one knee, Ben.
Because there is freedom in
not knowing.