You want to be more than the sum of your parts,
For your pain to be art and your thoughts, revelations,
O but Virginia, you are not! You are not!
You want to rise above the dunes and the common colors
And see what others do not see, translate it to poetry
Yet every word is the product of you: queer, depressive,
Bitter and guarded. It's not that you didn't fly away
From your pain for some hours, some few.
Dedalus-like you gave your vision shape, but like him
The migration was seasonal, doomed for a fall,
For a river and rocks, for a slow bubbling dress
And the note for Leonard. God save him! He was good to you.
It wasn't enough, no one can say why.
As your body disentangled itself from your will,
swam for the surface and your thoughts were suddenly
still, I wonder: was there a God waiting to receive you?
Would that relieve you?