Ryan Nash was waiting to be a poet

Ryan Nash is waiting at Admiralbrücke
He is waiting now there While I ride his green bicycle around kreuzkölln
Ryan Nash is sitting on a bridge waiting for Paula

Jean Paul Sartre would never wait for Simone sitting on a bridge

He thinks

While a poem grows smoothly underneath his fingers

Ryan Nash is waiting to be a poet

While smiling underneath his subtle poetical grief

Gently lifting a glass to his mouth

Like he knew Yeats would have done

While waiting for the birth of his Drinking Song

And he is still waiting on that bridge

And I’m still riding around on his green bicycle

And that “p” for Paula will soon be the same “p” for poem

Though both “p” and “p” are driven by discovery

Ryan Nash isn’t yet aware of that

One is meant to be found the other is meant to be.

This he knows for sure while waiting to be a poet

While I ride around Berlin sitting on that hard saddle

Merry-go-round with two broken pedals

While Ryan’s own saddle was to be ceased

As he stretches his eyes along the river crossing the park

And

There she was being a poem

And

So he was being a poet.