Dance, Modesty, Dance!

Dance, Modesty, dance,

the years of the pink concentration camp are behind you

long, lonely walks on the city's margins

and a thousand summers of books strewn across beds.

Take only a teacup to your sailboat

binoculars, and the aid that erases

every surfeit memory along the way.

Shadowed by the agave that grows on the boat

through long nights out in the open, listen to

the world's sounds die away.

You found the love of your life

and is there greater joy, than when in thought he descends

on you at any time of day, and no-one sees him!