For Helping Her Think or Only To Know More.

And in this handful of days,
That covers my concern
I discovered,
Around my words,
Everything! I wasn’t saying.

I will start where I left off, and then look backwards, go there and not go then, but soon.

A Ballad by Robert Creeley:

We have a song for the death in her body
And if the night is long
Or the blackness blacker,
Then something is effected from us.

But if, without hope, there is crying
And a moaning, a retching,
And the time is horrible,
And she cries and tries to escape from us—

Do we then sit down with petulance
And a show of hate, and not like her?

(This reminds me of the night we talked about. The night that's gotten you into thinking I am hurting.
And all be-caused by you? Is that not selfish?
Maybe. Just by being
There hasn't ever meant you've done anything).

I'm aware what I say doesn't reassure you,
but that is also not its purpose,
nor any interest of mine.