I am obsessed with Petrarch. As you know,
If you know anything, he loved a girl
Who was “the wind, the tree, the golden curl”
Was “Laura: l’aura, lauro, l’aureo.”
And so I know he’d never look at me.
It’s hopeless. And it’s worse than that, he’s dead
Six hundred forty years. So then, instead,
I sublimate with yearning poetry:
I love the way you write and smile and jest!
I love the way you set a distant goal
And trust that human effort does the rest.
I love the books you love, I love the whole!
I love the way you play with words, but best.
I love the way you love the human soul.
12th April 2016
