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To
Mary
I met you in the springtime of my solitude
Walking
in the tender grass, before the flowers bloomed.
You
came without intruding, and gently touched my hand,
And
never even startled me, for it seemed that you belonged.
And
then one sunny morning a flower budded forth.
Startled
by her radiance, I plucked her by the roots,
And
kept her in a jar, so I could watch her constantly,
But
in the jar she wilted, and faded far from me.
The
virginity of my solitude thus raped by a flower bright,
I
went to pick another who faded overnight.
And
you watched me pick a third one who wilted as before,
While
in our constant garden your roots were taking hold.
You
saw me falling in and out of love with every one,
And
wondered at the transience of love inside a jar.
Yet
in my times of solitude I see just where you are,
Walking
in the tender grass, my ever-constant friend.
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The Jealous Sea-
To
Mary