“Why should
I go further than I am able? Is it not enough for you that I am perfect?”
--William
Carlos Williams
A Villanelle For One
All I can do is
the least I can do;
my left hand stops hell, my right hand, heaven--
Some days I wish I were more like you.
I’m as dumb
as a tongue is to a word, used
without being asked, like time, or leaven.
All I can do is the least I can do.
I’m the chronic
center driving all red dews,
looking for release, neither weaving nor woven.
Some days I wish I were more like you.
I push green blades
up, but they grow grey, too,
when I’m tired, they’re black as a cold oven.
All I can do is the least I can do.
I dive into dark
kites of kisses or spreading stains of rue
to shred me, yet I’m only pulled or cloven.
Some days I wish I were more like you.
Though no one can
requite my love, I’ve missed you,
and swim you in exhaled sleeps of the forgiven.
All I can do is the least I can do;
some days I wish I were more like you.
