Packing Tea for Donald Hall

Dearest David Hall
of Kensington, Massachusetts,
I packed your tea today
thinking you were Donald Hall,
esteemed poet.

I watched every leaf and stem
and imagined how they would open in your cup,
and how you would think of words to describe them,
such as "flowering" and "rain-wet".

Perhaps my tea
would appear
in your poems!

I filled your bags delicately,
all of those hearty Keemuns,
and chest-heaving Yunnans -
What are you doing
drinking such dark teas,
Donald? ... David?

I was going to copy down your address
when I noticed that you are David Hall,
perhaps a distant cousin of Donald's,
a painter, or perhaps a Massachusetts man
with no relation at all. Whoever you are,
I gave you a few Christmas cookies.