the new era of poeme

enter, then
the new era of poeme.

i am a mess,
my skirts sweep the dirt,

i shudder and shake,
but i do not weep.

i jangle with hope
and wish i could stop wishing;

i contradict myself.

i wonder:
how is it,

that i am still as green as jade,
after all i've seen and said?

green as green,
after all i've seen and all i did?

it seems
not a small mercy

but a huge
infinite and encompassing one.