These words are for my only Virginia
whom I will never meet
and always love:
Miss Woolf.
When I don’t have
a room of my own,
and when people forget
the history of
the Hogarth Press
and marriage
becomes conveniently easy,
readers will have lost their way.
Leonard, remember,
your wife needs you
“in all the old
familiar places.”
When I lose my sense
of sound and rhythm
for ‘The Waves’
then it will be time
for me too
to take my leave.
“A lady always knows
when to leave.”
I will still be a woman
who stands straight-backed
shouting “I have no country.
My country
“is the whole world!”
Virginia,
you are my lighthouse,
my only bouquet,
my ‘Mrs. Dalloway,’
my stream-of-
consciousness
to the river
and winding
essence of you.
We are the lovers of life,
the watercolor
of another artist’s poetry,
and heading ‘To the
Lighthouse’
slowly, yet certainly.
I won’t buy the flowers,
myself, ‘Mrs.Dalloway.
I’ll pick them wild.
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