They wanted me to tell the truth,

so I said I’d lived among them

for years, a spy,

but all that I wanted was love.

They said they couldn’t love a spy.

Couldn’t I tell them other truths?

I said I was emotionally bankrupt,

would turn any of them in for a kiss.

I told them how a kiss feels

when it’s especially undeserved;

I thought they’d understand.

They wanted me to say I was sorry,

so I told them I was sorry.

They didn’t like it that I laughed.

They asked what I’d seen them do,

and what I do with what I know.

I told them: find out who you are

before you die.

Tell us, they insisted, what you saw.

I saw the hawk kill a smaller bird.

I said life is one long leavetaking.

They wanted me to speak 

like a journalist.  I’ll try, I said.

I told them I could depict the end

of the world, and my hand wouldn’t tremble.

I said nothing’s serious except destruction.

They wanted to help me then.

They wanted me to share with them,

that was the word they used, share.

I said it’s bad taste

to want to agree with many people.

I told them I’ve tried to give

as often as I’ve betrayed.

They wanted to know my superiors,

to whom did I report?

I told them I accounted to no one,

that each of us is his own punishment.

If I love you, one of them cried out,

what would you give up?

There were others before you,

I wanted to say, and you’d be the one

before someone else.  Everything, I said.