Saturday, March 9, 2013

HEAVEN, I THOUGHT





Heaven, I thought
must be the place
where all those I have arm-or-eye-embraced
in love
might one day hold my hand
or touch the memory of my hair
as they refuse to do now, here.

I thought too, long ago
those tiny tears of loneliness
might, assembled,
rain-wash-bright
some lover’s eye
that she, he, it
might only see
the blur-hazed face
that lovers see, without detail,
and understand my love
and touch my hand
which hasn’t happened here.

There were, no doubt, too many
that I loved—It isn’t big enough,
God’s love, to hold them all at once,
so how could I?

I should have settled on only one
no matter who (I loved them all
I swear it)—I should have
settled on one and held him
by the shoulders and explained
firmly—shouted, if necessary,
bitten, fought, hit, held on and even
killed—
it would have been better
years ago, that is,
since now the tears
are crystals, no longer even
white, that we must
wade through
here in hell.


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