Call it my daily addiction: “I need words
To quicken my mental agility.” You, of course,
Were unimpressed. Like Venice pigeons, birds
Of thought would swoop down in my head and force
A token feeding, a small act of assuage-
ment. You’d just lie a-bed, silent, sleeping.
Or, if not, regarding me, the page,
The hour, wondering what folly could still be keeping
Me from you, warmth and nightly love.
“I do really want you now, my sparrow....
Pardon? More than my paper? Well, yes, my dove.”
But why must the route be so straight and the road so narrow?
We quarreled freely, both passionate defendants;
And even arguing, were one — in independence.
To quicken my mental agility.” You, of course,
Were unimpressed. Like Venice pigeons, birds
Of thought would swoop down in my head and force
A token feeding, a small act of assuage-
ment. You’d just lie a-bed, silent, sleeping.
Or, if not, regarding me, the page,
The hour, wondering what folly could still be keeping
Me from you, warmth and nightly love.
“I do really want you now, my sparrow....
Pardon? More than my paper? Well, yes, my dove.”
But why must the route be so straight and the road so narrow?
We quarreled freely, both passionate defendants;
And even arguing, were one — in independence.
(1992)
