I have to realize that the sunset is not just mine,
that I can't watch the evening through the bougainvillea,
while the nightingale begins its first note,
and expect that no man on the earth sees what I do.
I couldn't have believed that I could own these things;
the wind
the scent of rosemary...
But I can hang paintings on my walls
and pretend that her beauty is with me
still.