this, what i meant to say, when

you, staring at trees and i

watching through a window,

i’ve empty pockets.

there.

no inked mercies,

for i am bumbling bilbo,

i know you half as well

as i should like,

and, when i read you,

gardner’s grendel whispers in my ear

naked to the cold mechanics of the stars*

but little faith should be spared

for dragon-speakers

no pockets, no ink, no words

just staring out the window

you staring at a tree

wishing you well

Grendel, John Gardner, Vintage Books, April 1989