Let no body, as it presses onto a screen
as if from behind,
be mistaken for the tiny light
its pixels might remind.
(We do not mistake the illustrious outshine
of all the stars by sun for the whole of the illusory day
for their absence.)
If it anguishes, or writhes in pain,
Let it languish, until you feel it's beating vein
and wait
in hopes something from the other side
draw back its hand
swallow its pride
and strongly say, not her, and not I.