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!
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