The Night Elizabeth Bishop Broke Off Our Affair

Your precision terrifies me, and I think
well no wonder you took to drink,
having all that intolerable fact
and no saving, blurring, merciful tact.

Of course I love you I say
And your forearm turns away,
the ulna and radius within untwist
until the shaking supine wrist

lies supplicating, flat,
and you say sharply, what do you mean by that?
I lay my cheek in your palm, on the table
and realize that I am not able

to answer. I can't construe,
not having the facts you do,
not knowing where the lines must fall,
guessing each one smudges all.

Bishop

Burn and heft and balance surefootedness and grace
An overflow of talents and still she hides her face.