Poet

The wind dying, I find a city deserted, except for crowds of
people moving and standing.
 
 
    Those standing resemble stories, like stones, coal from the
death of plants, bricks in the shape of teeth.
 
 
    I begin now to write down all the places I have not been—
starting with the most distant.
 
 
    I build houses that I will not inhabit.

Copyright Credit: Keith Waldrop, "Poet" from Analogies of Escape. Copyright © 1997 by Keith Waldrop.  Reprinted by permission of Burning Deck Press.
Source: Analogies of Escape (Burning Deck Press, 1997)