picture of an older woman
that is mine
for love
for hurt
a heart can stop a 50 ton trailer
upend the market
grind the hurricane outside to a screeching halt.

What is nature, what is man
next to the gripping distraction
of a heart consumed ?

Not knowing my new occupation

we saw a movie about love not long ago
a story about poetry.

I composed for myself
“this is not the love of poetry
it is too steadfast, too certain a thing”
No more stanzas came, only too pleased
with the hand in mine.

I had your hand, what did I need of words?

This entry was posted on Tuesday, March 23rd, 1999 at 12:00 am and is filed under life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.