She writes to me—

I can’t sleep because I’m seventeen

Sometimes I lie awake thinking

I didn’t even clean my room yet

And soon I will be twenty-five

And a failure

And when I’m fifty—oh!

I write her back

Slowly     slow

Clean one drawer

Arrange words on a page

Let them find one another

Find you

Trust they might know something

You aren’t living      the whole thing

At once

That’s what a minute    said to an hour

Without me     you are nothing