The stars are
Although I do not sing
About them—
The sky and the trees
Are indifferent
To whom they please
The rose is unmoved
By my nose
And the garland in your hair
Although your eyes be lakes, dies.

Why sigh for a star
Better bay at the moon
Better bay at the moon …
Oh moon, moon, moon.











From Poetry Magazine, Vol. 184, no. 5, September 2004. Used with permission.