Classic Poem

I left her
Letting her keep my gay clothes.
I put on my brown corduroys.
My strong knotted stick
Pressed hard against my hand.
I shall be gone a long time.
I have business to do with a rock in the sea,
I have secrets to plants in the desert.
I have something I want to whisper
to the moon.
I shall come back and ask for my gay clothes.
I shall put them on
with the quietness of a rock
putting on moss,
with the sureness of the sea
edging into land,
slow as the desert,
shy as the moon in a forest.
We shall be
Silver tails
moving in deep deep green green waters.