Thief in the Hotel du Lac!
Our little pouch of cash--
pure loss, now, or
pure plenitude, for
hardly a month will pass
I do not spend those bills
in fantasy--shop window in Verona:
an oriental rug, the fancy desk lamp
under which I write hurriedly
in soft pencil on yellow pads,
those saxophone lessons
and the teacher whose family
slowly moved into our extra
bedroom, and all that happened
afterward, the blood, the gold, the babies,
oh Thief du Lac, true wealth
is hard to find.

-- July 1991, Bellagio, Italy