and love, love
the magician, singer
of voices, come again
to deceive us
in the fall, each thrust
of fern reminding the wind
of what is lost
in decision
                         and love,
lost river forever falling
over the wishbone
into the heart
of darkness, into
rainbow spray
                                and love
the vine of no season,
greedy tendrils winding
up the rock, carving
faces by their purchase,
and love the face
of the rock
                        and love
the scolding healer
who opens
the neglected wound

and love, sweet Sundays
of no particular form,
the pages of news
yellowing in the light

and love, the ocean
remembered in blood,
in sweat, in tears,
in genital juices
                                    and love
the old destroyer,
her muzzles rich with rust
to paint the sunset

and love, which knows
no language but conundrum
to tell why
                        and love,
last choice

April 75