Frank O’Hara’s “Morning” is the first poem I consciously memorized. I am writing it in Wei-Ming’s letter and I am rereading it this morning very slowly. Seeing the text, I realize that I have memorized some parts incorrectly. At first, I was not reading it; I was reciting it from that place where rhythms and bodies begin to stay with each other. Reciting quickly because I needed to catch the rhythm as it happened to me, so that I would not lose the music of the poem and therefore the poem. Right now, losing the poem as it exists may not be the worst thing. If I really knew it, I could do it at any speed.