Paul, Pining for His Wife

Diane, I bought a little white and royal Afghan;
She sleeps with me often in the kitchen
For often I simply lack the courage
To sleep in the room where you slept.

Diane, I cleared away the ivy from the garden;
I made room to finally grow the lilac
That Whitman used to scatter in his bedroom
At night when he was writing his poems.

Early in the morning I go out with boots and ruffled hair -
Something you would always do before -
Down to gather water from the creek behind the neighbors' house,
But the bucket's far too hard to lift.

Oh! For all the time that I spent sleeping while the sun came up -
You were making coffee from the rain...
Wading in the water while the walleye come and gather round,
Nibbling at my feet, nibbling at my feet!