Most Days

On the hotest days of summer

I try to memorize

that Mark Strand poem

about freezing to death.

I mean in weather where you don’t know

your own face or how

many fingers you’ve had

your whole life, how many hands

your hands have touched

getting change, say,

at the store.

I don’t remember what the poems says

so let’s, you and me, agree

it says no matter what happens,

no matter what we do , we will

be loved

even if we don’t know by who

or how.