As her lies made me happy they then became true
and were amazed who saw me knowing what they knew.
How could I be happy when I wasn’t the one
sighing by her moon and singing in her sun?
How did the rain satisfy my lips
when rain in the moss drips and drips?
How did the tragedy which blew through the corn
miss me? How did I escape a heart forlorn?
Wasn’t it my heart that had been betrayed?
Why does the nightingale sing in my shade?
Could my God be the one God? Does poetry
laugh in my verses, singularly?