Oh, Leonard Cohen, you are but a dream
but would you try to meet me in the Fall?
No longer we’re so young as seventeen
but fools may have their moments, after all.
I’ll croon for you a Hallelujah chorus.
We’ll go to Queens for drinks at Donovan’s.
You’ll tune for me your Hallelujah Opus:
I’ll grovel at your feet should that time come.
Oh, Leonard, would you meet me in New York
just as the dying leaves fall into poems?
I’ll wear low heels to dance; they’re quiet cork.
A red dress with a toast to Jeroboam!
My death from hero worship comes, it’s true
from adoration: bella luna, you!
*”bella luna (one meaning: a mysterious man who brings light to life).