Innocence and Privacy

We’re flirty with these gifts
We’ve got we didn’t ask
For, aren’t entirely sure

We want, although we feel
How well they protect us,
Conscientious parents.

Desolation isn’t
Only a luxury
For the young in cities,

Who may yet get the call
To step into the light,
Understudy over.

Far from the light, that dark
At the back of the stage,
The theater, the street

Of theaters, the great
City itself, cities
Themselves—not wilderness

But, you know, in the cracks—
We old, cloistered poems, each
Elderly Héloïse,

Still spotless and all that,
Twirl and send out letters,
Since no one will read them,

Pretending we are safe.
Assault and mockery
Are rarely our concerns.

If you want privacy,
If you crave innocence,
Pray God’s indifference.