I know this body is impatient.

The poet Robert Creeley died on Wednesday.

He's been one of my favorites for as long as I can remember, and there are lines that I'll remember until it's my time to go. I did a quick search to find something of his to put up [strange that i did so just a few days ago already], and was happy to find a poem I'd never read before.

I'm sorry he's gone, but I'm glad I found this. I expect this one'll
be with me for awhile.

"Goodbye"

Now I recognize
it was always me
like a camera
set to expose

itself to a picture
or a pipe
through which the water
might run

or a chicken
dead for dinner
or a plan
inside the head

of a dead man.
Nothing so wrong
when one considered
how it all began.

It was Zukofsky's
"Born very young into a world
already very old..."
The century was well along

when I came in
and now that it's ending,
I realize it won't
be long.

But couldn't it all have been
a little nicer,
as my mother'd say. Did it
have to kill everything in sight,

did right always have to be so wrong?
I know this body is impatient.
I know I constitute only a meager voice and mind.
Yet I loved, I love.

I want no sentimentality.
I want no more than home.