Where has the sun been, and you—
As if all the golden prophecies of spring were true
In ages and ages past,
So the sunny culmination seems to be coming true at last—
Now I seek, with this truth, and with you,
What lives behind the coin and makes it real.
What are you looking for, besides what you feel?
Is a question we tend to shrug off, each day
Because actual happiness never comes our way.
The legitimacy is always physicality:
The amount of sunbeams in a sunny day,
Mathematics versus rhetoric.
The old opposition: Numbers are sane. Poetry is sick.
The physical is forever legitimate,
A path which travels in opposite ways
And divides our sunny days.
What strikes us, and kisses us, is real.
Far, far more than what we feel,
And actors playing at love
Are more like love than love.
What we plainly see
Destroys our poetry.
Mathematics travels from the physical,
Then back to the physical, becoming beautiful.
Rhetoric goes the other way, towards the physical,
To become like it, seeking to become beautiful,
And, sadly, as it reaches the eye,
This poem here—about anything, it doesn’t matter—
In words attempts to wave goodbye.