A Dream of Jealousy


Walking with you and another lady
in wooded parkland, the whispering grass
ran its fingers through our guessing silence
and the trees opened into a shady
unexpected clearing where we sat down.
I think the candour of the light dismayed us.
We talked about desire and being jealous,
our conversation a loose single gown
or a white picnic tablecloth spread out
like a book or manners in the wilderness.
“Show me”, I said to our companion, “what
I have much coveted, your breast’s mauve star.”
And she consented. O neither these verses
nor my prudence, love, can heal your wounded stare.