I tried to explain why I live alone;
I should have said it is too hot for friends,
Too hot to ask for names and so the phone
Never rings, and day and day begins and ends.
I stand accused of solitude
But the thought of it doesn’t bother my head
Unless I’m in a certain mood
Or notice an empty room or bed.
They do not see the company I weave
In thoughts, in prayers, in observations;
There’s nothing in silence one should grieve
Where the soul finds tranquil contemplation;
Nor should my heart be unspoken when
There are readers, paper, and — a pen.