New Stanzas for Amazing Grace
Allen Ginsberg
Man Sleeping
Jane Kenyon
Large flakes of snow fall slowly, far
apart, like whales who cannot find mates
in the vast blue latitudes.
Why do I think of the man asleep
on the grassy bank outside the Sackler
Museum in Washington?
It was a chill
afternoon. He lay, no doubt, on everything
he owned, belly down, his head twisted
awkwardly to the right, mouth open
in abandon.
He looked
like a child who has fallen asleep
still dressed on the top of the covers,
or like Abel, broken, at his brother’s feet.