White Shirt 2

The imaginary unit

The poet has no money. He puts a paypal link at the bottom of every poem on Medium.com

I do not click his links. I google him and find his books on Amazon. I buy his poems about a lost war: Never Forgotten

The white shirt is an abstraction, something I took off, and can put on again.

The sun in the evening falls across my table, and I think about things I did not do today.

We imagine a death that never comes, like the square root of minus one.

“You wake up and know you are really alive.” I quote the poet.