And I'd like to close on a little myth.
A little myth about me standing below a window, shouting,
Valentina, Valentina.
Until I'm joined by a couple of friends who happened by,
and others on their way to dinner
end up joining in the melody.
Valentina, who apparently is not home.
I announce, there is no Valentina.
There never was.
A little perturbed, but forgiving, the crowd
dissolves into night mist.
But one last voice stays and tries again, Valentina.
It amounts to so little, but poetry remains
on nearly every corner calling.
Thank you.