when i am good
and this lasts as it should
i shall no longer be able to rhyme.
but if this is the condition
of your kind of volition,
of your acts of kindness and love,
then finally i am happy to move
firmly on from being a poet
to being something other than this.
for what you showed me
that last bloomsday was a prediction
art will last forever
but the artist
not so long.
and when he finally sees the
woman of his real means,
and his dreams then become
a virtual wondrous and real
of formula two, no longer
one, as you did what you clearly
had to do that month, and you did
so very right, and you did so very true,
i then realise that the might of your
astonishing grey cells
is precisely the place i now want to be,
more than any photography
or poetry i might nurse.
give me a task of beautiful complexity
to suss, and i shall follow you
always, forever, dearest c.