This ritual yeartide, when I seek full consent
To wander around a
city, where I have wooed
You both unhappily
and relentlessly,
Continues to convict
me that nothing
Remains to me but
honor and life, which is safe.
But your recent anger is death to me for
Which I plea to be pardoned
to play freely
In a double game
where masks are worn
By us, never seeing the other’s opposing side.
Soon your presence will be worth all this waste,
But in the meantime as I remember your face
This city becomes a universe of dear spite.
