is a beautiful poem. A poem I want and do not want to take home with me and put it under my pillow to console me in sleep. It seems to be about and not be about being and not being with somebody. In the end it is very sad, and also not very sad at all.
I have had The Pajamaist sitting on my bookcase for a long time, since I saw him read. And I had picked it up from time to time, but today I started to read it. And I like it a lot so far. One of those books I could imagine myself reading and re-reading for a month or so. See how it ends (sorry to spoil the surprise but it's a bean of a last line!):
"O caring and not caring outside me quiet
pass me the green hat
with the feather in it
O feather falling in love with the world"