she smiles at my silliness
and sobs alligator tears when
i'm a nogood.
she understands - my puddle.
she shimmers as the moon bends
down to say goodnight.
and returns his kiss. my
puddle patiently in stillness
listens to my needless talk
of not real troubles
and needless bitter poetry.
but sometimes, because i
dropp a rough stone, there are
ripples and the smile is not there.
it is my fault. why do i hurt
what i love?
when my puddle's heart aches,
mine aches. but mostly often
we laugh; for she is made of
drops of joy.
but i have fear. for soon the
sun will come and take her
from me.
(March 17,1965)
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