Time Turns and Goes Back in Its Shell

We run no risk
We’ll take the poem
For what’s real—if
It’s a poem, it’s

Here and it’s not
What’s real. What’s real
Is we won’t be.
That brings us all

Like blooms to rain,
Like kids to play,
Shouts, and ice cream—
What we need, sure,

What we want, what
We won’t need, needs
Us more, what’s real
And draws on poems.