The more she lets herself be confined,
The more she rejects herself in her mind.
The more her confinement she knows,
The more carefully she goes,
And takes such painful care
To see that she’s not there,
That when she happens to appear,
Fear she has married fears her fear,
And the dread and sad confinement
She loves becomes more dear.
She wisely goes where she is going,
Her old wisdom knowing where we went,
Avoiding places with memories of me,
Who wrote places for her, in poetry.
She knows confinement is unknowing,
A convent to her religiosity,
The virgin renouncing knowledge of me,
Dreaming where she knows I could be.
From all movement she removes
Movements we shared—
And her confinement proves
We roamed the world together,
When I cared for her—but she never cared.