All around me, toppled strangers
sleep like children; undefended fortresses,
open mouths. There are mountains traveling
beneath us, massive folds of bodies
robed by snow. I could count a thousand trees,
delicate fringe round the mouths
of lakes; from here it is suddenly clear
how many roads there are,
how they lead everywhere; the slopes appear supple,
endearing; the cities too, elaborate and harmless,
the cars industrious as ants,
the red roofs of the tiny houses,
turquoise swimming pools like stones
set into the jewelry of the world.
I can’t see pain from here; I can’t see you, my far
darling of darlings—not your need of me,
not your need to be free of me. From here,
I think, I can love you like water,
beautiful and speechless in its tides.
~ from Edgewater (Perennial, 2002)
