I will call my love Gatsby for now,
for don’t we deserve
just what we are?
He will come with the remedy
for sacrifices made in his name
all along, every hardship endured
for the sake of that green light-
his love for me.
Right now he is every face passing in the street,
he is all the strength a fool can muster,
can masquerade to belong in a world that pretends.
He knows me already, as a child knows his mother,
as a mirror sees every crack
in its owner’s eyes;
and who is really seeing whom
when creation meets maker?
For I wait only for a vessel, this I know,
or he would’ve been here long ago,
this Gatsby man of ghost and rose,
a tunnel that never ends-
and we two doubtful forms
ceaselessly borne together
into a future that never comes.