I never find my
bed empty
when you are
in
it. except when you
are in it
reading t.s.
eliot especially
t.s. eliot's
"the wasteland."
in it.
so far, you haven't done that.
I love you.
* * *
love poem #2 to amy
but when you have
finished reading
t.s. eliot: LOOK UP!
there's mozart,
according to wallace stevens,
in a poem
by him. stones upon
the roots of arpeggios;
you,
in bed
* * *
love poem nyet franÙaise but
in english à amy, amie:
yes, I will touch your foot.
here is a pillow, it is smooth,
rest.
#4 love poem (in a series of 4) to amy
signed by the artist, printed in garamond
type, sz #14 pt.
I love when people talk of stones
and say of them that
they are smooth or of jacob
and esau:
one smooth, one hairy.
only a pillow is truly smooth, I mean truth.
or I could mean love. I am
asleep.
I believe in three things:
and here is a pillow,
and here is my sleep,
and here is reason, not dead—
for keeps.
I tell you in love—my bed is never truly empty.
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