Only when Beatrice dies, will the poet love.
There needs to be nothing left
before we have everything:
for this is to truly love. Imagine her gone.
Then ponder what it means to love.
We all held back. Even, in love, we didn’t invade
our lover’s space. We had to laugh
at the worst thing in their space we might do.
Being nice was so important to civil life,
evil thoughts circulated—
otherwise politeness had no value.
Therefore all who seemed good,
but were not, became terribly attractive.
Hidden logic traps the merely social
which is the water on which philosophy sails.
To be good, you had to be bad, without
seeming so—worse, this, than being bad!
No wonder there are so many secrets!
No wonder the beginning of modern poetry was sad.