The Standard Joys and Blessed Sorrows

And here we are, together and alone:
You, answering to any name that fits
The gestures for the way a woman sits
And watches how a man alters his tone
While watching her; and me, turning to stone
And quietly abandoning my wits.
You wonder why a living man submits
To this; such attitudes are not unknown.

Late praises once again, and signs, and dark,
Imaginary history, and noise.
I try to cover or erase the mark
You made upon my life, the standard joys
And blessed sorrows, and at last the spark
Is doused. The fire warms us, and then destroys.

Our Hearts, part 20