Wistful hours

PRETENSE

for j.g.

Let’s keep up the pretense that there exists an understanding between us

like Auden and Isherwood, Like Spender and Muriel, no that’s not us

start over, erase the words from this journal that fades each day,

it is pretense trying to make love between us seem true

but it is a story like Exupery’s prince, though he was innocent and pure

you are the shadow in the corners of my day, I avoid you, because I wish

it were all not pretense, I wish you gave a passing glance that had depths

which I could not understand nor explore but made me feel alighted,

beautiful in your ways, you’ll think of others, of summer, of numbers, flying on.

and I’ll write of these imaginings, you’ll never know the pretense I wished for

simply because there can never be a tender word left of me, known, held.