And what if Romeo,
lying in that chapel in Verona,
miserable and spotty, at odds with everything,
what if he’d had a revelation from which
Juliet was absent?
What if, just before darkness settled
the arguments between most things,
through a gap in the walls he’d seen
a garden exploding,
and the pink shadow of blossom
shivering on stones?
What if,
unromantic as it seems,
her mouth, eyes, cheeks and breasts suddenly became
ornaments on a frame
common as any girl’s?
Could he still have drunk that potion had he known
without her the world still glowed
and love was not confined
in one shape alone?
From the prison the weary imagine
all living things inhabit
how could either
not have wished to escape?
Poor Romeo, poor Juliet, poor human race!