I couldn't live with you
for that beauty
would also be broken
behind the shelf like cracked porcelain
I couldn't die with you
for I would not
have the pleasure
of dying in your arms
have the pleasure
of dying in your arms
I couldn't rise with you
for that almighty God
would be jealous
of our love
So we must meet apart
separated by an ocean
and some commitments
yet still ... a window open
Here is the original Emily Dickinson classic:
I cannot live with You – It would be Life – And Life is over there – Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to – Putting up Our Life – His Porcelain – Like a Cup – Discarded of the Housewife – Quaint – or Broke – A newer Sevres pleases – Old Ones crack – I could not die – with You – For One must wait To shut the Other’s Gaze down – You – could not – And I – could I stand by And see You – freeze – Without my Right of Frost – Death’s privilege? Nor could I rise – with You – Because Your Face Would put out Jesus’ – That New Grace Glow plain – and foreign On my homesick Eye – Except that You than He Shone closer by – They’d judge Us – How – For You – served Heaven – You know, Or sought to – I could not – Because You saturated Sight – And I had no more Eyes For sordid excellence As Paradise And were You lost, I would be – Though My Name Rang loudest On the Heavenly fame – And were You – saved – And I – condemned to be Where You were not – That self – were Hell to Me – So We must meet apart – You there – I – here – With just the Door ajar That Oceans are – and Prayer – And that White Sustenance – Despair –
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