I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

She did not speak for speech was unknown to her.

Joyful, joyful, joyful, as only dogs know how to be happy with only the autonomy of their shameless spirit.

Place gifts of silver in our hands. Give us this day our daily fish.

And I watch my words from a long way off. They are more yours than mine. They climb on my old suffering like ivy.

White bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul You live again in time, slender and silent.

When everything seems to be set to show me off as intelligent, the fool I always keep hidden takes over all that I say.