Ave…(1984)

“After all, we are not gypsies
living in a green wagon…”      Thomas Mann, Tonio Kröger

Shall I leave you when I wake
to gather up my clothes
and the obligation of another day?

I might contrive to speak
an art around such quick departure,
or smile as if I knew a thing at all.

The heart remains.
A door divides
rooms and loyalties. Just so.

Your eyes are closed to me,
to day, to thought, but in the night
they opened black a universe of joy.

Your arm rests on mine;
your left leg angles over my right.
Shall I wake you when I leave?

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