The Eyes Inside (Still)

A poem from 1990

My legs are my handkerchief

My arms are my napkin

My heart is weeping

It is tired from beating too fast

when you step into my mind

like the sun in my mourning eyes

and the rain in my hair.

You will not leave my head

because I wanted you to be there

but you are there too often

depriving me of rest.

You want my imaginary attention

as I vainly imagined you might want mine.