I know nothing about love.
Love knows nothing about me.
The cat washes his paw. Rubs behind his ear.
Stops bathing, looks at me.
He is tired of my secrets. They are not secrets.
They walk across my face
Like the cat crosses the garden, moonlight indifferent
The insects talking of their love.
In the workshop of my heart,
My muddled mind, my soul builds love with wire,
Wood, paper, iron and copper, the feather fallen
From the crow, the pup’s baby molar
Glued on top, I turn it upside down and hum.
It must be love. I add two more staples and take up
The sandpaper, rubbing it smoother, finding a way.
You tell me about love. Past and present.
The repetition of love. The tenderness of puzzles,
A round of hide and seek,
The tag and race, the colours of summer
In your voice, sudden coolness of summer rain.
I hear the thunder booming coming closer.
It is not like my hammer.
Tapping in a few new tacks to keep the cover
From slipping off too fast. Gifts, small
And many, moments inside the day.
I see what I can see and watch for the rest
When my mind lets my heart run.
You are a kite and I want to be the wind.
It is all slow dance, the same music playing
In our heads. A thousand cars honking
Racing by, blinding us with their lights.