The enormous effort to make you happy
is me talking to myself. You know it ruined you
when she rejected you—and you breaking apart
has given you pieces to form beautiful poetry.
Her rejection of you was inevitable and good.
The poems are good but you, unfortunately, are sad.
It is an enormous effort to make you happy.
Spectacular poetry. Yet you, the poet, are sad.
You would much rather be loved by her
if it meant being a bad poet. But the good
poetry, or the attempt to write good poetry,
drove her away. She could see the man getting worse
as the poet became good. She vanished in a white cloud
the minute this was understood.