106.

What of the furtive thief of love stealing

Nothing expected when youth had time enough

And coyness went out with roaring headlines

And electronic images too obscene for the gods?

The reeds from your fingers reassure me

That you have not been eaten online

Or on some couch by some film or slime

Where people are too good for other people,

But can that rest, some caesura, come

In the thunderous rage and chat of our time?

The struggle for love, a secret garden

Amid battle, has raged so long. Hands have

Stacked skulls at Golgotha, Moscow and Treblinka

Stolen tears beading on broken fingernails.