Open to me, says the world,
speaking in such clear-cut sentences
that I see beauty in its style.
I stand at the doorway,
Ridiculous in pajamas.
What others find in art, I find in news.
What others find in human
love, I find in news, so very trouble-free.
Sunrise, a smaze of dampness
over every growing thing,
beads of cold light
formed on the orange wrapper.
Is there a voice here?
Open to me, says the world,
so that I can finally say
tomorrow and the day after and even
the future. News, the hailer, the healer,
the tutor — even more than beauty.
Death cannot harm me,
more then the news stirs me,
my cherished life.