It wasn't fair. EJ had found him, brought him home, set up a comfy, warm bed of hay in the basement; she'd even named him. But from our first encounter on that cold January night, Mister Peepers only ... [+]
if you do not love me.
We have already
sat on the hill together
in sunlit trees.
We have watched the owl.
We have already
eaten pears
examined chalk on a brick wall
drunk a pale yellow tea.
And besides,
the chain between us has fallen now:
a centipede upon the ground--
clay and dry
like a bone.
I do not care.
It has been nice.
I will be glad that,
like an early star,
the bright sun has taken you from me
every morning.