Wake up, poem, get out of bed.
Last night you were born, an immaculate love, all inside my head.
Go, poem! no more aspiring;
The fading surge of romantic night is retiring.
By evening light, we discussed evening and its philosophy
Like two lovers. Today, you must leave me.
You were a late afternoon idea, and destined to please me in the night.
Now you must be a poem for real, and go out into the light.
Let’s see if they love you, the metaphor of the “evening tree,”
And let’s see if I am revealed in your shadowy philosophy.
Let’s see if the evening by day’s eye is fed.
Let’s see if love is the love, last night, we loved inside my head.
You must be seen and loved, you must be inspected.
Hopefully, all that was wrong last evening will never be detected.
The light will come through the window. They call it “pitiless day.”
But as they quietly look, the flaws might escape them, anyway.
I know. I seem cold. My mood has changed. I’m thinking of other things.
But I do this to all my poems. I’m mute while the poem sings.
It’s over. You are finished. Get up, please, you can’t stay.
If you remain in my head, poetry will go away.
Pray for the evening, pray for love! Pray for the evening sea!
And don’t worry, I promise if they hate you, you can still love me.