There’s nothing that I really want:
The stars tonight are rich and cold
Above my house that vaguely broods
Upon a path soon lost in dark.
My dinner plate is chipped all round
(It tells me that I’ve changed a lot);
My glass is cracked all down one side
(It shows there is a path for me).
My hands—I rest my head on them.
My eyes—I rest my mind on them.
There’s nothing that I really need
Before I set out on that path.
from Gettysburg Review
Volume 19, Number 3, Autumn 2006, page 470
Copyright 2007 by Kevin Hart.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced with permission (click for permissions information).