—you are the key to release me
when a—poem flows through ages,
reaching around your palm—whether small or wrinkly—then, uncle Nam;
enclose my airy violet coffin.
if the—poem in your hand, as you follow it—with your dear eyes,
catching thoughts o’ thoughts, soundless mouth-reading, then,
it is time, uncle Nam;
to bury the rest o’ my hollow bones.