Each gesture
is a common one, a
black dog, crying, a
man, crying.
All alike, people
or things grow
fixed with what
happens to them.
I throw a stone.
It hits the wall,
it hits a dog,
it hits a child--
my sentimental
names for years
and years ago, from
something I've not become.
If I look
in the mirror,
the wall, I
see myself.
If I try
to do better
and better, I
do the same thing.
Let me hit you.
Will it hurt.
Your face is hurt
all the same.
Robert Creeley
