I know that language is skin deep

and I'm no scholar but

I know what mint is when

spoken of by Seamus Heaney.

I've read that Neruda questioned

when lemons learned the same laws as the sun

and knew the scent of the iron in horseshoes.

I know what lost loves are

but nothing of their whereabouts.

I know what my father

kept hidden in the glove compartment.

I found out late in life

whose faded phone number was

scribbled in pencil on the wall near

the heaviest phone.

I know the son’s vision regarding most things

did not come from me or me alone.

I know of friends who have gone away and not by my invitation.

and now at long last I know what my grandfather felt like.