On a Line by Petrarch

What I once loved I now love less.

September leaves us shadows

but no light. I watch you undress,

your body edged in darkness.

Miles on the stereo, those notes

that I once loved, and now love less-

the glint of anger they suppress

turns a kind of airless blue,

admits no light. I watch you undress

your gestures of significance,

and leave me at a loss to know

what I once loved. I now love less

than fluently, am forced to guess

at curve of neck and arch of brow.

But not at light. I watch you without redress

to sound or sense. The needle lifts

at last from the refrain, its echo:

What I once loved I now love less.

But no; not light; not watching you, undressed.