I Don't Know What to Title This
What else could you possibly offer me
But your very flesh?
Or do you wish I would dwell in the ruins of your soul,
To take refuge there, like a Barbarian
From the siege of Rome’s legions?
Fifty years, a feast of shattered bulbs
Among festoons of crimson crepe paper
Faded by time
Like debris strewn about the shore.
What else could you give to the one who had been your master
but your very flesh?
This, no matter how much you always
Denied me not the greetings
Of those who open their lives to summer,
But the farewell of hostile winter.
May God take his holiday,
