I WANT A BLIND MAN
Who shuts out
circumstance
walks slowly
touching trees
whose images
are his own
takes others
as they come
reaches
to find me
takes my body
carefully
in his hands
places his
just so
lies in
the deep night
concealed from me
words air born
between us
birds
of our making.
Poem taken from The Smith No. 2, The last special issue, 1973