Manuscript page 100, a digit of colossal abstraction,
standing alone, inconsequential, just another zero.
When I was five, I could count to hundred, stood by
the window counting people walking by...
It was a small street and not many walked there, so
I learned to cheat, counting people twice.
Sundays were especially difficult, I had to count people
three times, when I first saw them, when they were by
the window and when they disappeared.
Then suddenly I was six and could read, and count to
thousand, but by then I had lost interest in numbers and
fell in love with words that could create visible beauty.
But there is no getting away from numbers, when my
first poem was published, they paid me 5 coronas.