Niet Hebben

You will know without telling
the cause of my despair.
I cannot put it into words—
you must return me to life.

The cause of my despair
is in those nights, music-fired.
You must return me to life
under stage lights, roses, cheering.

In those nights, music-fired
I sang for you, for all joy in singing
under stage lights—roses, cheering
like wine, like love pouring.

I sang for you. For all joy in singing
we let slip the weight of brocade
(like wine, like love pouring)
to fill every corner of our need.

I let slip the weight of brocade;
I left the stage lights burning
to fill every corner of our need
time and again. Did you not see

I left the stage lights burning?
I cannot put it into words
time and again. Do you now see?
You will know without telling.

Still thinking about those undelivered letters. This pantoum is for Jane.