TO APPROACH Medusa
-even without a touch
he finds
himself a sort of night-
mare of whim.
His letter.
I must go if I die.
she was,
still hurt her
a
mature country girl,
and a touch of
old-fashioned style
“Now you’re here,”
“Still, I’m
here,”
“You thought I had gone.”
“But some day, I
suppose, it will happen?
“I shan’t be sorry,
One decides
quickly enough when
there is any
question of desire.”
‘Go in,’ he said to me
yesterday.
No.
15 is empty:
It’s nailed up:
out
of the room.
. . . . . . . . .
the fish pie lay
on her tongue like wadding.
poured himself out a glass of water.
“This is the
worst time of day.
He held me responsible.
“You’re so beautiful.”
“I was ill
yesterday.
-Come.
do you
hear?
“A waterfall in
my head.”
There’ll be no ‘here’
left--how can you
come back?”
“But my poems . .
-the piano
inside my head, the waterfall
inside yours.
Never never try to betray.
“I’ve got to live
“Don’t
write.”
but she was
a girl who had never
been touched
He has lost me, too.
“Don’t forget your poems.”
see if we are still
here.”
“Should not see anyone.
“Sleep . . . “
Her
knockings you bear
From "Dear John" series.
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