You think I’ve forgotten you, but

You think I’ve forgotten you, but
I haven’t. If I was honest

With my feelings I’d probably move
Somewhere in the desert, say,

Utah. No one would know why
I lived with the sparrows, because

If I was honest with my feelings I’d love
Too many people at once—men, women,

It wouldn’t matter, I’d convince the sky
To marry me. They’d call me insane,

lock me away, give me Klonopin.
I’d see things: stars, Chopin’s symphony

floating madly. These things I’d want
to possess: your braids, every autumn

leaf stuck to your sweater, the lampposts.
You think I’ve forgotten what it feels like

to love one person faithfully, on a railway,
in the desert. I just want to hear the earth

call me insane. You think I’ve forgotten
you. No one knows but the sparrows

how many times I’ve written I want nothing but
every god-blessed you.

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