we are lying in the park when you say to me:
i love you.
i roll over, to see your eyes, and your soft smile.
i love you like the ocean loves the moon.
you think that's silly. the ocean does not love-
maybe the animals, plants
that live in the ocean love, but the ocean
the ocean does not love.
but i'm silly too, aren't i?
when i tell bad jokes,
and roll around in laughter and the grass,
laughing long after i've run out of breath and you of patience.
but you love me, and i love you like the dark loves the light.
you think that's ridiculous. the dark is not real-
it has no presence, no life, no little creatures
scuttling around within it-
the dark cannot love, because the
dark, is not.
but i'm ridiculous too, aren't i?
hopping along as you walk,
telling bad jokes and bawdy stories,
speaking in rhyme and metaphor and rhythm and century-old vocabulary.
but you love me, and i love you like the rain loves the flower.
you think that's outrageous. the rain does not love-
it does not love flowers, because
the rain would fall whether there were flowers or not,
and the rain does not fall only
to water flowers. if anything,
flowers love the rain, because the flowers would not bloom
if there was no rain, would not live without the sweet water,
would capture no perfect droplets on their petals
if there were no perfect droplets to catch.
but i'm outrageous too, you tell me,
even if i am completely wrong-
but i love you, and you love me like the flower loves the rain.