Sirens

My transgressions pile against the garden wall

(built when Rome began to weaken, scarred

by a cannonball.) I gossiped; I snubbed

a dinner guest. I watch until the wall writhes

with awful feral cats fed by shrunken widows

and the odd librarian. I’ve begun to be depleted

by your absence; one of  love’s worst symptoms.

For years, I’d had the sense to hold myself apart.

I’ve been here long enough to kill

two mint plants and a lavender,

then resurrect their better part.

I’d like to let you die on the vine.

Not you, the You I Dream,

who follows through on waking.

See how the watcher sees the storm

but doesn’t get wet. Be that.

Be what?

Be wiser than the heart.