If I were obliged to tell you the truth,
I would tell you that I love you,
But the world is free, and there is no
Urgent need for me to profess everything.

So I scribble a mental note on the book cover
Of the dictionary of my unspoken thoughts,
Breathed here or there, under other words
Completely unrelated, entirely different

Leaving me straying on another point before
Finishing the one which I really wanted you to hear.

But the world is free, and you went soaring
Around distant galaxies, wheeling with stars
Breaking the barriers of cosmic infinity;
Kissing always the clouds which could never kiss you back,

And I am tired of serenading the wind.

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