It Is Not My Darling Montague

If I
Were to negate
The heat the
Sparrows flickering
Candles among
The health of
Grasses and coniferous
Marking-Places

Stone roadways and antiquated mile-signs in
Europe.

He remains still on the green
And white against the lavender
Tint of the secret sun. He
Is well and
Intent. The metal is cool
And it reminds me of
February. That was not
Him.

Overhead the gulls
May have known
The Mediterranean. He
Questions the
Likelihood of a same-color
Sky.

Auden remains Delphic on Time.
I would
Let you
Know. A Mockingbird
Hurting against
The roadway. Where the carriages
Raced shaded the bruised-eyed
Young man who he
Had been. Is now.

Go home, my Italian,
And I shall wait for
You.

It is
Not…yet I
Will.