The Responsibility of Love

    Where you are now， the only lights are stars

    and oil lamps flaring¹ on vine-covered porches.

    Where you are now， it must be midnight.

    No one has bothered to name all the roads

    that overlook the sea.  The freshened air

    smells of myrtle and white jasmine.  A church

    stands on the headland， and I hope it might

    keep one thought of me alive in your head.

    Autumn is here： warm days becoming cold.

    The trees drop more leaves， love， each time it rains.

    I eat my meals with the TV turned on，

    but softly so the neighbors won't complain.

    The kilim is stained by the food I spilled

    the first day——and the second——you were gone.