They say the ambiguous Irishman, Parnell,

Held at his arms' length a woman he loved

Out over a bridge-rail, to test her trust.

He proved she knew he would not drop her,

The night river running deep and they alone,

And did not. He hauled her back into his hug.

This year I have had two anonymous letters

About my poetry, attentive, abusive, contrary.

Tear them up? No pieces could be small enough.

I hold them over a. bridge-rail of nothing.

Drop them, my own hate says, in the river.

I pull them back. Folded in my breast-pocket,

I carry them, to test my trust of myself

And of someone, someone one I need who needs me.