To Oscar Wilde

To Oscar Wilde

Your rhymes destroy my common sense.

I want to give my sighs to you.

Why did they place us at the two

glamorous times?

If only but a great expanse

were the abyss that parted our lives,

and not the times, glamorously undying--

the snow, the ground and the dreams

were common, in this case,

for you and me, and I had earthly way

to you, my dear soul-mate. Alas,

without you I’m one of many.

No room were in your heart for me--

no matter--

I could be but the second or the third--

my distant poet, why did they

place us at two or three, or more

glamorously undying times?

 

October, 2006