Hear it, the shout
Of love, echoing through my hollow bones that smell of metal,
Singing along my bloody passageways.
Once, you mentioned the futility of it,
Like staring into the sun. I disagreed;
It is like climbing a stone wall into a sheep meadow,
Like fishing for brown trout and like counting the stars:
There is a foreseeable end, a purpose.
You brought me back.
In this ribbon of a universe, there is no one
Who could talk like we talked back then.
We jumped over stiles, holding with one hand thin dandelions,
Time-clocks. Crumpling flaming-orange leaves in our fat
Spider hands in that destructive way that only humans know how.
The air was gossamer, so patently transparent it hurt
Us to walk through it.
Everything had a gilt edge, even your red nose.
We were treading paper, talking.