You are that man

At 3 A.M. you are that man,
Who knows a bit too much,

At time of night, like Sexton
She not born a grave -digger

Nor learns to be bell- ringer
For both parents in hearses.

Poet is she who likes to turn
A coffin wood back to trees

As the dead knew the truth.
Now , you are at three A.M.

When sitar strings its music.
You know your bits of truth.

Poet rings bells for all of us.
You are that man, at 3 A.M.

You now know part of truth.
There is coffin in every tree.

(reading Anne Sexton’s poems “The Truth The Dead Knew” and “Poetry“)