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Poem	Here come my night thoughts On crutches, Returning from studying the heavens. What they thought about Stayed the same, Stayed immense and incomprehensible. My mother and father smile at each other Knowingly above the mantel. The cat sleeps on, the dog Growls in his sleep. The stove is cold and so is the bed. Now there are only these crutches To contend with. Go ahead and laugh, while I raise one With difficulty, Swaying on the front porch, While pointing at something In the gray distance. You see nothing, eh? Neither do I, Mr. Milkman. I better hit you once or twice over the head With this fine old prop, So you don't go off muttering I saw something!
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