I doubt I’ll ever write ‘the poem,’
The one that will be the last,
The one that will finally satisfy me,
Of which I’ll be able to say,
‘This poem is the one,
The poem I needed to write.
I need write no more.’
No,

Once one has truly begun
In quiet absurdity to write poetry,
There is no one poem that fulfills one fully,
And there is no one who
Can take one away
From the task, which goes on.
Which means enduring,
Writing always one more.