Contradicted by the unseen,
Being right is mean.
Correct, stumbling in the night,
The stupid want most of all to be right.
You are right. This poem is bad.
And I write it because I’m sad.
The hills have green and dappled sun.
I remember when you were the one.
Inspired, I held you near,
And told you I loved you. I was clear.
I love you, as the sun shines on me here.
You are right. And always were.
You are right. And what does that mean?
You are right about me. And her?
She was wrong. Very wrong. But unseen.