Love

When my grandfather died, my grandmother
Offered to open the coffin but I declined to
Look. Here is this hollow space on the earth
I occupy. People neither visit or not visit. Far away
Their thoughts wriggle like sperm through the universe
To my oval mind. The intensity of the confusion in the air
Around it causes them to despair. Our friendships
Dissolve. Old lovers cry a little, learn my lesson,
Face their lives alone.

I ask the pond where I can find such
Clarity and calm. A bullfrog yawns
As though nothing mattered but love.
I look over my shoulder and a tall woman
Has been following me through the morning mists.
Among songs of orioles we climb a high rock
And dangle our legs. Where
We'd expected the ocean was the still pond where
Bullfrogs ceased their mating croaks only at mid-day.
We arrived early in the morning. The mists were heavy
And the sun gradually burned them away.

There is love in the land. Some claim
It is one love that's certain. There are my friends
The wandering Jews, their love of humanity and
Ideas. Fickle as the one and ephemeral as the other
These seem even surer. There is love
Of a woman, her substantial flesh, its sweat
And cycles, the two of you bitterly breaking apart
To come together tenderly. There is love of children.
Should the children become too independent, there is love
Again of the mate. There is love in old age. There is
Love of old age. Love of night, the dew, silence, the northwest.