I want you to know
You know how this is:
I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.
You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full