Waiting inside an ubiquitous Star- bucks on 6th Avenue, where a jazz riff attempts to mask the rumble of the subway under this seat, and the rumble in my heart,

I wonder how your eyes,

which are the greenish blue hue of water found at the mouth of certain river deltas, will look at me when they emerge from the underworld into this briny New York light,

Changed to my current vision by all that time I have spent wandering through those wintry cities, reminding myself of the lost Eden, and how Woman was Man's sister first, before her mouth, tasting of red apples, was kissed.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.

Note: Reading Auden's "Selected Poems" - I know I am little late in getting around to his centennial - on the subway earlier this morning, I read the above poem, whose core - "let the more loving one be me" - had stayed with me since I had first read it on a poetry mailing list a while ago. Since it reminds me of how Auden wrote some remarkable love poems, it goes here.