Do the Solipsist (Danzón No. 2)

Relayed two fortnights too soon
Nearly as imprudent as the waxing moon
Your mind is caught in a trance
And we know stupor is to stupid as the arrow is to cupid, fixed by nothing, if fixation
Is half as weak
As your young cheeks
Then let the ivory light coax the trees
Let the wind woo the air as if asking, "please
Relay your secrets to me"

The trees do little to hide
The small discrepancies that their leaves deride
You ask yourself if romance
Is a projection of the moonlight or rejection of those who might be exhausted of existence
The starkened snow
Tells you to go
The begotten stripes of sky tell you where
Between a cloud of smoke and a lock of hair
Await your tidings of me