Who has sowed this confusion

I am in love with love’s idea

yet the pain it causes wreaks havoc

on my weary soul

for I mistake passion that lights fires

for something not it

it was a bookshop by a river

when I saw you

I held Mayakovsky poems

in my hand with you smiling wildly

red haired muse of the river

diviner of runes

today I walk in a valley

seeing pools of

poems

once written by you.