IL PAGLIACCIO

—for Oscar Wilde—

Come,

Let me hold you warm—

For the winter wind

Plays round the door

And the hounds run wild

In the streets tonight

It is not safe

To wander the mists

In the snow tonight…

But—

Wait!

You are not the man I called

From the night.

He is the elegant

Clown who charms

Such self-laughter

From our blind hearts,

Then soothes our slighted egos

With hints of bright hereafters.

He is the man

I called from the howling night.

He is the man I knew.

He did not have eyes

That have looked on hell

Nor a life to break my heart.