I fought in the war of love
With a thousand others fighting.
The movie set was a dream,
From the fluttering flags of the ships to the red lapping waters.
(The ships were tipping, and as they burned, had trouble righting)
I studied Western Love and the Mediterranean.
I struggled to keep up with history in vain,
To keep up with books. Research was a drain.
She was sweet, had a sense of humor,
But saw everything in the context of dying.
As always happens when you love,
I always vaguely had the feeling she was lying.
I kept telling myself: don’t provoke;
Burn; enjoy it until it ends.
Now I write a poem for every
Reminder the executioner sends.
