…
I am singular and we are plural.
I see us walking on the busy street
and waiting for the bus. Each day I meet
him, Walt Whitman, whose kind face I see all
over the place. Or I am in his brain
because I think that poet isn’t dead
anymore than I live. Grass in his stead
comes through the sidewalk’s cracks. Let it remain
unnoticed as the air we breathe. New York
City is just a poet’s thought and we
are written on the page eternally
living then as well as now. Yet time’s short.
It’s important to talk and say what is.
I think of him. I am a thought of his.
…
…
Drawing by Akram