The Paris Review

Three Poems

Green Moon

Green, how I want you green.

—Lorca

I am sorry I let you downI was writing this poemIn the middle of everythingThe way theySpring like a gun to the headGreen how I want youI’m so sorry flowerI let you downI was a pink warriorA violent concoctionSomeone mixed me up by accidentBut don’t be sorry for meNothing like a lakeTo go admireAs you drive past itOn the way to somethingA real miracleAnd if you showed up here tonightLike I wanted you toI wouldn’t stop to apologizeI’d embrace youWithout thinkingHow I wanted you thenHow I still doGreen like I know you betterIf I could do it over againI wouldn’t

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