LINES WRITTEN IN OCTOBER

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LINES WRITTEN IN OCTOBER



Oh where are you, my lovely?
How is it you stay away?
What strangeness drives you,
Turns love into disappointment and woe?

I imagine, you might very well understand.

Yet do not suppose a simple story.
Do not figure you, role playing the subject,
And, me, the writer, who recounts a conventional,
Everyday tale about love won and lost,
The drama which accompanies its marvelous heights
And then the drop to low-bottom sorrow.

There is no script with a beginning and an end.

The story stays; it remains the same.
Unlike all sublunary it does not change.

You shine, darling, you shine.
Tonight you are bright and eternal.
And every morning you arise steadfast;
Your light makes the seasons of my heart.