This energy is pointed outwards
And spins away from us like a spool
Infecting the deadly air.
But you are as close to me as a day in a schoolroom.
You are the widow of cold leaves.
As love affairs want to nourish themselves
On letters and games, my simplest acts
Are suggestions - and you so sensitive to my errors!
You seem to be made out of children and hints!
For if innocence is the choir boy's
Small face in the presence of reasonable death
It follows that he cannot understand it,
As I cannot understand you. And your laughter
Is a sign of what you cannot understand
Which is for him to decide.
His sensitive music has covered the front
Of the stage - the actors, the lovers
Imagine his simplest decision.
From Blue Vents (1968)
Used with permission of the author.