Spring Fever

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Writers, it's true, write to one person.

I'm doing that now, imagining you,

as i always do. It's obsessive, really,

except it's not you, it's somebody else.

You may think it's to you, but it's not,

unless you happen to be somebody else.

This is going nowhere, which is where

we would be if you thought it's to you

and weren't somebody else. Are you?

How should I know? Good Christ, what a day!

The wind in the leaves and the light in the lilacs!

That's all I care about, truly. I'm in love

with the day and with you, I care about you,

assuming, you know, you're somebody else.