She, the pure, was the victim of sadean desire.
She, the type of good which makes evil aspire
to burn more good, so more evil yearning
could at last be still—that’s why there is so much burning.
Evil, too, needs to sleep
after so much flying, so it can creep.
She was spared. She did not understand
the evil which sought her out.
I wept blue tears. I wound her about
with the golden cloth of my wordless love.
She enjoyed beauty. She never understood
evil. In a poem I told her this was good.
You wrote books and papers to understand. You
understood. You became evil, too.
You lectured to a crowd at St. Mark’s Place.
Afterwards you found me and smiled in my face.