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Poetry
To
a Loyal Friend
I
carry this along,
my fear,
fresh upon the bough
feeding
upon birdsong and
daffodil
promises
exhaled
by melted snows
morphing
into limpid petals
exalting
“spring” and “eternity”
in twelve
different moans.
And so
this fear. And so this
hope.
This fire singing
in the
summer of your eyes,
in their
steady, noble purpose
to
comfort, to understand:
to thwart
and not to bridge
the
leaping questions now
growing
in them or in mine,
to
confound the platitude
of hips
and hands,
not
the loyalties that lean
feebly
between words, meanings
and
mouths: emulsifier
of
desire, O dear and gentle
friend,
in your warm distance
my wide
soul rests; my lips
and
body lean on your
strength
that has not yielded
even to
me.