Because I have seen so much
I find myself doubting it all, all, very much.
I do not hear two chiming sounds together
But I blame it on the obvious weather.
There is only one love, one.
This universe on my heavy heart weighs a ton.
When I put it all together, I found
Myself falling in love without a sound.
My poems don’t know it, so we
Are still thinking of you. But she
Is seducing my cloudy future
With a sweet face and languid looks.
You belong to my past—its books
Have words and pictures of you,
As if you were a writer, but you were
Not a writer. I didn’t know what you were.
My heartbreak—which writes poems fast
To you and only to you—is not aware of her,
This siren on the edge of my past.
Will someone write me a pretty good poem at last?
A big ocean she sings across.
I watch the small gray waves toss.
Is it possible she will overtake you?
What else is she going to do?