My Wife

Anonymous One,
If I turn my eyes from You, lovely words,
My thoughts become a screen through which I see:
There is no creation, I am my own
Enemy, kin of Narcissus, like a painter turned to stone
By his painting, as though he tried to fit
The kaleidoscopic world into that one image alone.
Words, too, are like young women in an office room:
I work with them, admire their forms, their dress,
But my Wife awaits me, and true happiness.
She is Woman without image I cannot leave
As I cannot leave myself, or if I try,
I shall grow old as Adam, I shall grieve.
So when I work, I work afresh, anew
Because I feel You inside, only You.
I flow in time, though not of time, a joy
Which no diverting pleasures would destroy.
You lead me not to comfort, but open spaces;
Of shelter, security there are no traces.
After all the thoughts, images that float
During day, in and out of the office room,
I return with delight
Naked, vulnerable, to the Night.