I write you poems you are too shallow to
In the gray depths of Victoria Station, the
soot, the noise,
you cried my name, and out of the dark
of mere people—you flew, all light in your light
summer dress, all lightness and laughter in my
all air, all daylight, all reason that a man
How you enjoyed your power in those happy days!
Now age weighs us down; now you struggle free.
Go! I have had enough of lightness,
the dolls all shattered, daughters broken.
Your power fails,
and back you fly, you fade. The station
Take it all back, then. Take the TV, take
and let me sit, lost in this dirty gray crowd of
writing you poems, too shallow to understand.
1988; originally printed in The Hudson Review.
permission of the author.