She told you, and now you are telling us
In poetry which is helpless.
Every thought earns a thoughtless reply.
There’s no philosophy which does not its opposite imply.
Is there no conviction? No certainty?
You are pretty. Yes, old. No, thirty.
She can say whatever she wants to say.
To yourself, you will contradict her. But not today.
For once you would like a piece of philosophy to stay;
You want the truth to be stable, to be what it is.
There was a hint in an earlier poem she wasn’t real, and you were alone.
After this poem there will be a quiz.