(From my poem "Love Song.") If I were to say to you, Darling,
if I were to say to you, Honey,
if I were to say Love, Hope, Sweet—
would you answer the way I want?
You are dear. You are dear to me.
There are twenty answers to every question,
a hundred, a million, so that when I ask,
Why do you love this? Why do you feel this?
the answer is a greater pleasure
than when I ask, What do you love? What do you feel?
Darling, every night you sleep and I wake,
or else every night I sleep and you wake,
I can’t remember, or it doesn’t matter,
because somehow we line up, anyway,
like lace lining silk in a dress,
or like wonder clinging close to something
brand new, something new and strange in the world,
and someone has seen it for the first time,
or someone has seen her for the first time,
and anyway, love, wonder and strangeness
cling and clang so when someone says,
I do not like this world, I want to say,
I do not know this world,
and it’s different today, and it will be different again
tomorrow, and I haven’t seen it
how it is, how it truly is with this new wonder,
washing all the world with a kind of blue dye,
because something new is here,
and I am new in it.