Reading Zagajewsky
This copper pen,
my beloved's fine gift,
reclines in the spine
of the book I am living
again, marking my place
between "Reading Milosz"
and "Walk Through This Town."Pen, two weeks in the web
made by finger and thumb,
its patina flames like music
alive in the mind,
like the poet himself
outliving himself, and Natasha,
my dog, rests her head
on my feet while I read.
