Monday morning, May 22, 2023 at 12: 24 p.m.
—this poem is for Isobel 'Izzy' Nash
'You probably didn't think I did, but I heard
you say that love is just a four-letter word.'
—Bob Dylan, 'Love Is Just A Four-Letter Word'
Izzy is not perfect, nor near-perfect, is far from it,
in fact, upon self-reflection. I need pause, reflect,
as my emotions, my feelings for Izzy get in my way,
take total control of me. This is a confession of sorts—
both to her and to me though she well knows how
I feel about her—a reconsideration, an examination
of emotions I sometimes cannot control and contain
as I have admitted to her, face to face. Izzy has ways,
ways about her that dissemble, and she is not honest
in her dealings with me—facts that I need to confront,
come to terms with. And then there was the encounter
of last Friday night… which brought all of this—this poem
included—to the forefront again. I pondered it before;
ponder it again right this moment. I have no answer,
answers; my feelings for her remain the same though
I have no difficulty living without her, which was not
the case years ago with Stephanie DeRienzo. No,
that was another matter entirely—my life experience,
another love, my marriage, the years married make all
the difference. "Bring me a higher love? " Really? Love,
just do not delude me any more than you have already.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem