My Life Has Been the Poem I Would Have Writ but I Could Not Both Live and Utter It

i think about us and everybody sort of writing a life as they go. Whether they're poetic or prosaic, we are. We're writing a life. As you reach for your last words, you realize this is it, this ebbing tide of language called your life. But how and what to say? And what does saying do? The first words are the hardest. Later, words come easily. Nyou listen, for the day will come when you must speak words too. That's how we make our way across this trackless landscape called the world. Ah parker, thank you. i don't know how i survived. Or, i was changed forever the day we two