The Argument of His Book

I sing of the Tribe of Ben and the progeny of Neruda

of painted lips and of the cymbal's crash

I sing of the disappearance of small objects

not through magic but through negligence or theft

the loss of other, more significant things too

a poet of disappearance and loss of various kinds

I sing the law of lengthening limbs and the "piano tinkling in the next apartment"

I sing without a voice to sing, through the melodic quality of ink

and paper, I sing the blue paper of Young Cherry Trees Secured Against Hares 

and I will not stop until I've sung my fill