A room, an island


the window is open

but Giovanni the lover is here

that flawless sentry

charming and benevolent as ever he sits

watching protecting

holding too tightly as if he were Calypso

as if he needed supernatural power

to control his isle

 as if the lover in his arms was strong willed enough to leave him

 for home


the breeze blows like the tide washes the shore


of any leftover shells free from its grasp

that lover

is beached between a rock and an unsteady tide


 on the windowsill of a fully furnished apartment


selfish (he is)

to think of a gold island as a prison

desperate (he must be)

 to think of a room as an island

heroes are most human in captivity

(because of) the way they clink their chains


foolish (they are)

to not fill their pockets with coins

haunted (they must be)

 to not abscond when the guard turns

the window is open



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