They would love to see me dead
So they say:
He belongs to us, he is ours
For twenty years
I have heard their footsteps
On the walls of the night
They open no door
Yet here they are now
I see three of them:
A poet, a killer
And a reader of books
Will you have some wine? I asked.
Yes, they answered
When do you plan to shoot me? I asked.
Take it easy, they answered
They lined up their glasses
All in a row and started
Singing for the people
I asked: When will you
begin my assassination?
Already done, they said …
Why did you send your shoes
On ahead to your soul?
So it can wander the face
Of the earth, I said
The earth is wickedly dark
So why is your poem so white?
Because my heart is teeming
With thirty seas, I answered
They asked:
Why do you love French wine?
Because I ought to love the most
Beautiful women, I answered
They asked:
How would you like your death?
Blue, like stars pouring from
A window—would you like more wine?
Yes, we’ll drink, they said
Please take your time
I want you to kill me slowly
So I can write my last
Poem to my heart’s wife
They laughed, and took from me
Only the words dedicated to
My heart’s wife
