To Itself

If you are a reader, Stranger

(If we’ve ever stranger readers),

We suggest you head down the Trail

Of Wandering Signs. Cross the Bridge

Off the Rim of the World to that

Dragon of Days. Intendami

Chi pò, ch’i’ m’intend’io. Just go.

He’s dead now, that poet, like most.

The trail wanders off by itself

And gets just as lost in the woods

As you would, the bridge burnt behind,

The dragon lost in all that smoke.