even when you are afraid, art is no dictionary.
max ernst taught me that the other day, wandering
around the pompidou late into the afternoon.
you whispered to me deeply last night,
love is first of all a lesson in utility. 
my responsibility did not begin immediately,
though they did begin in bed.
so by sunrise i had to run away north,
without leaving a word. 
how many lovers have i lost,
taking refuge in the reverie of train trips.
reading <<ruins of paris>> on the way to Lille,
i learnt that you must look at things in the belly,
not in the eye.

i worry about all this, because 
I love you. 
because suddenly,
i want to devote my life to
glorifying you.
i’m sorry i left this morning, that 
i did not invite you along. 
i just wanted to see how far this cord
stretched, how long i could travel
without glancing back. 
i’ll make it up to you, when i return,
i promise.
(would you like another
three thousand love poems?)