I take books from shelves, and set out
my store of usually useful things:
pens and brushes, knives, and keys
that I put to work, to continue
the debate I am having
with a world
that rimes men’s beards with frost,
that creases the faces of mothers
minding children in bomb shelters.
Your forebears and mine had callused hands;
they were students of tenacity
whose greatest triumph was survival.
We talk on my imaginary telephone
about places to fish, the prevalence of lions,
and which herbs cure a fever—
we talk about what makes us
long in being and unshakable.
