How to Love
After stepping into the world again,
there is that question of how to love,
how to bundle yourself against the frosted morning—
the crunch of icy grass underfoot, the scrape
of cold wipers along the windshield—
and convert time into distance.
What song to sing down an empty road
as you begin your morning commute?
And is there enough in you to see, really see,
the three wild turkeys crossing the street
with their featherless heads and stilt-like legs
in search of a morning meal? Nothing to do
but hunker down, wait for them to safely cross.
As they amble away, you wonder if they want
to be startled back into this world. Maybe you do, too,
waiting for all this to give way to love itself,
to look into the eyes of another and feel something—
the pleasure of a new lover in the unbroken night,
your wings folded around him, on the other side
of this ragged January, as if a long sleep has ended.
|Dec 11, 2013||They Call This||C. K. Williams|
|Jun 10, 2012||It Is a Small Plant||William Carlos Williams|
|Mar 12, 2011||The Uses of Poetry||William Carlos Williams|
|Dec 25, 2012||Peace on Earth||William Carlos Williams|
|Mar 05, 2012||Spring Storm||William Carlos Williams|
|Jun 05, 2010||Summer Song||William Carlos Williams|
|Sep 14, 2013||Marriage||William Carlos Williams|
|Aug 28, 2011||The Hurricane||William Carlos Williams|
|Jan 29, 2012||Complaint||William Carlos Williams|
|Sep 25, 2010||Queen-Anne's-Lace||William Carlos Williams|