Love Poetry

Not knowing

I like you.
Or at least I like who I am when I'm with you.
When I look into your eyes,
I'm on a different planet.
I've always liked you...
Even before everyone else did.
I still do...
And I don't know if its worse if you know,
Or worse if you don't.

You are tired
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we'll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I'll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

The Dependable Blackness of Ink




There comes a moment when

life's treasures tumble

like kaleidoscope shards

and the moving warmth of human flesh

gives way to the stillness of words

pinned in the middle of a book -

that moment when you reach out to feel

not the flow of hair or the rhythm of fingers

but the steady presence of a printed page,

and the color of your loved one's eyes

becomes subsumed by

the dependable blackness of ink.

For The Foxesdon't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.

Wan Chu's Wife In Bed
Wan Chu, my adoring husband,
has returned from another trip
selling trinkets in the provinces.
He pulls off his lavender shirt
as I lie naked in our bed,
waiting for him. He tells me
I am the only woman he'll ever love.
He may wander from one side of China
to the other, but his heart
will always stay with me.
His face glows in the lamplight
with the sincerity of a boy
when I lower the satin sheet
to let him see my breasts.
Outside, it begins to rain
on the cherry trees
he planted with our son,
and when he enters me with a sigh,
the storm begins in earnest,
shaking our little house.
Afterwards, I stroke his back
until he falls asleep.
I'd love to stay awake all night
listening to the rain,
but I should sleep, too.
Tomorrow Wan Chu will be
a hundred miles away
and I will be awake all night
in the arms of Wang Chen,
the tailor from Ming Pao,
the tiny village down the river.

Imperfect Perfection


I dreamt that I'd tell you,
I dreamt I'd convince you.
I dreamt you would love me
and I too would love you.
I dreamt of perfection,
a dream so romantic.
I dreamt you would smile
and carefully panic.
I dreamt you would hug me.
I dreamt we would both see,
together we're better -
I dreamt you weren't choosy.
I dreamt up the ways
of how I could tell you.
I dreamt up bouquets
and a time and place too.
I dreamt that I told you.
I dreamt that I could do.
I dreamt that it happened.
I dreamt of a breakthrough.