Had I known your dreams were thin as the crisp ice
That forms on ponds on January morns
And glistens falsely, brighter in the melting sun of day--
I would have said, Wait my love for warmer water
Kindlier friends, and through the clatter
Of hypocrisy and wasted days we will sail away,
As Europa on Zeus’ steady back, lunging forward
Towards visions that will not melt, but stay.

And I would teach you to sail a line
Straight from this ruin on to the farmer shore
Whilst slanderers struggle in a slough of words
To see you greeted by a thousand swords--
To see you rise beside the golden door.