Cumins is, for ever ,at comings
And goings,a lover of humanity
Poem maker in the lap of death.

He doubles “e’ as in a “screetch”
Who is highly under-capitalized,
Holding secret life in his pants.

He holds secrets of  us in them,
Making poems in a death’s trap
Making poetry up like  woman.

In  very smallness of our hours
We make up poems and a stuff
Between a coming and a going.

Until we drop our pants, where
We hold a life, ticking in poems
A poem maker’s in lap of death.

( On reading a poem entitled ‘humanity I love you” by e.e.cumins)