The present now and here, America’s busy, teeming, intricate whirl, Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing, To-day’s eidolons. - Walt Whitman

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean

This is no book;
Who touches this,
touches a man;
(Is it night?
Are we here alone?)
It is I you hold,
and who holds you;
I spring from the
pages into your arms...

from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.