I haven't felt you like salt in the wound
Since you brought me the roses wrapped in fire.
But I have felt you as an obscure fly
Secretly, between green and blue weathers.
I feel you like the tree that no longer
Blooms, no longer hides from its flower-
Ing gratitude, no longer has the a-
Roma of Rome, of Florence, of today.
I feel you without knowing a single
Thing about feeling, or about hating.
NOW I WILL JUST FILL IN EXTRA WORDS
FROM THE DEAD POET EDGAR ALLEN POE:
Elizabeth it is in vain you say
"Love not" — thou sayest it in so sweet a way:
In vain those words from thee or L.E.L.
Zantippe's talents had enforced so well:
Ah! if that language from thy heart arise,
Breath it less gently forth — and veil thine eyes.
Endymion, recollect, when Luna tried
To cure his love — was cured of all beside —
His follie — pride — and passion — for he died.
NOW I NEED JUST TEN MORE TO MAKE IT
FIT THE ASSIGNMENT. HMMM. SYLLABLES HURT.
HOW ABOUT SOME LINES FROM OLD ROBERT FROST.
HE OFTEN WRITES IAMBIC PENTAMETER.
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do. HEY! I'M AT THIRTY NOW!
____________________________________
One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII
I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
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