Sirens

My transgressions pile against the garden wall (built when Rome began to weaken, scarred by a cannonball.) I gossiped; I snubbed a dinner guest. I watch until the wall writhes with awful feral cats fed by shrunken widows and the odd librarian. I’ve begun to be depleted by your absence; one of  love’s worst symptoms. For years, I’d had the sense to hold myself apart. I’ve been here long enough to kill two mint plants and a lavender, then resurrect their better part. I’d like to let you die on the vine. Not you, the You I Dream, who follows through on waking. See how the watcher sees the storm but doesn’t get wet. Be that. Be what? Be wiser than the heart.