Self-interrogation under a Full Moon above Il Campo Santa Maria Formosa

Do you want to die?

No.

 

Do you know you will die?

Yes, of course.

 

Are you afraid?

Sometimes.

 

Is life worth living?

Yes.

 

Does it sadden you to know life will not last?

Yes, in a way.

 

Does love help you live?

Yes.

 

Even though love hurts?

Yes.

 

Even though love releases harsh emotions when it fails?

Yes.

 

Does the pain love elicits thrill you?

Yes, it makes me feel alive.

 

Can you survive lost love?

Yes, every time, barely.

 

Can you love more than once?

Yes.

 

Can you live without love?

Yes, but I cannot imagine it, and I never want to live without it.

 

Is poetry a form of love?

Yes, definitely.

 

Is the love of poetry the most constant of loves?

Oh yes.

 

Does the love of poetry soothe?

Not always, but mostly, yes.

Is poetry fickle?

Yes!

 

Do you trust poetry?

Yes.

 

Is trusting poetry naïve?

No doubt it is. To trust poetry is to love it.

 

Are poetry and love inseparable?

Yes.

 

Can the heart distinguish between poetry and love?

No.

 

Do you want to love?

Yes.

 

Is love more than poetry?

Yes.

 

Can love cause you to stop reading or writing poetry?

No, love elicits poetry.

 

Can you be alone and love?

Oh yes!

 

Can love end in death?

Yes, it is a form of death.

 

Can poetry end in death?

Absolutely.

 

Can death end in poetry?

Death is poetry.

 

The life in poetry and love, will it die?

Never, even though we do die, even though I will die.

 

Does reading poetry help you to come to terms with death?

Yes. When I read poetry I do not fear death; I feel immortal.