I will wear sunglasses,
so as to hide the tears which form in my eyes.
For a man is not supposed to cry,
so they say,
and because of this:
my heart I have kept in a safe.
But I will wear sunglasses all the same
for I am emotional as poets come.
As emotional as Thomas who found solace in a bottle.
As emotional as Byron who went to Avalon without a drink.
For my feelings I carry with me, visible for you to see
like Magritte’s apple stuck to a forehead.
Glasses which will be taken off
when I go to bed at night,
lulled to sleep by the stars,
my nightmares forgotten.
And when tomorrow comes
again, to put them on.