A Dyptich

No man who borrows Should return the exact debt; Let him return more, Or let him return less. I borrowed twelve dollars From a rich uncle of mine: I paid him back a hundred’s worth of poetry. He is not satisfied. I am not forgotten. I borrowed from a stranger An old coat full of lice; The cloth became strong serge, The lice became buttons. The stranger Wanted his old coat back again, He got an old joke instead And went away laughing. I gave my God some second-hand prayers, Prayers that were used and fingered and worn; In return He gave me My heart’s desire. I gave my God all the love that’s in me.... He put it in His pocket, Absently, With talk of the weather: He’s a wise God, knowing His own worth. No one who borrows Should make exact payment; If he does as I say He’ll be remembered forever.

I will not lay bricks for the homes of other men; I prefer to fell trees in the forest, To fell them and let them lie. If I go to the forests, I will starve; If I lay bricks for those others, They will feed me soup and black bread and onions. I will fell trees Angrily, And I will let them lie.

I will lay many bricks: And that I may lay them better, I will take their bread and their soup ... Courteously returning thanks For the wages they offer.... I will lay many bricks, And in a straight row, As befits one who has knowledge of his freedom.