i saw marketa, this was before,

sitting on the grass, smoking, reading.

i came to say hi and stayed, 

we talked. she did not have an inkling, i did.

i told her something she needed to know,

what i had failed to tell terri, about the blackness,

the moods. she listened, but she did not hear. later,

when it came, she was unprepared.

i do not have the temperament of a nun,

but i should have cloistered myself, 

kept the black cloud to myself.

now it is too late. we soldier on, in love,

but it is not la ti da, it is not playing salty dolphins

diving into one another carefree 

and carelessly. perhaps i should have spoken

with more authority. perhaps she should have listened harder.