IF

If you can

logically explain it –

if it can

be rationally defended –

if it makes

any sense whatsoever

in the landscape of

your life

as you’ve known it –

then

it probably is

not

love.

BIRTHDAY

It’s nothing new

that my thoughts

in these small hours

run to you.

A while ago midnight

          rang

your birthday –

this

my poor

and only gift

not given

          but

cast to the wind

to waft

if the wind will

to you ...

Tu me visites

          la nuit.

Dans mes rêves tu

m’embrasses;

dans mes bras tu

          t’étends.

Jusqu’à l’aube nous

          nous étreindons –

que je m’éteinde

comme ça!

À l’ouverture des yeux tu

          t’évanouis;

mais la poitrine où

s’appuiyait ta joue

          se cicatrise.

  

(Seventeen Syllables About) THINKING ON YOUR FEET

Jaundiced under lights

          the TV psychic, straight-faced

                   reads for someone’s cat.