You enjoy smoking by stopping,
So when you come back to it the nicotine kick is new.
You tried to explain this to me
In terms of love, when we were lovers, but I just felt insulted by you.
Now I know you were right.
Of course you were. You were my delight,
Even when you were cruel and stayed away,
And I wondered, non-stop, why you had stopped, the whole day.
I thought. You didn’t. You were always right.
The ridiculous truisms in a love song
Applied to you. How were you never wrong?
Here I am the poet, pining, trying out the love song.
A good poet is always stopping:
A thousand edits in every line.
Look at how many seeds are dropping,
To fall, to die, to grow, to lose their way in the confusing wine.
It’s good to stop many times. The painter’s great
Who touches and re-touches. da Vinci and canvas equals a long wait.
Of course I haven’t stopped since we stopped,
Even though it was well understood
That we stopped for good.
Careful discussions and plans were dropped.
Stop. Start over. Stop. Revise.
Think. Don’t think.
Life does not cease. Even when you close your eyes.