It's Never Possible to Write a Good Love Poem
Dates are dropping from the tree outside.
I tried one, it's nice, but dry.
You have to peel a green skin
to get to the meat, red and seedy,
a million of them. I wrote once,
"I want to take you outside,
ask you questions,
wonder at your solidity & ease
like the shining fact of your nose ring
against the sun." Who but
I should understand love
with all its sorrows and joy.
That should still be a question.
Now I wonder how I never knew
a thing in my life. How, like a cake, love
always molds into another thing.
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