Despite everything, my love:
kisses, probability, post diagnoses,
pyrotechnics and silence;
I am nowhere closer
to a Terza Rima then when I began.
I do not think in meter.
I turn and turn and turn the pages.
The words never come.
Do you have an answer
for the cards of life?
and I don’t.
I love you like the old wood floor
I lay on to write-
in all the right places
by the footfall of familiar generations.
You are my warm buttery home.
I have succumbed to your profound fire.
I fear that you have mis-taken me for another:
someone who will extinguish the flames
and return the corners to their darknesses.
Master your dreams, love.
You, yourself said that you know all
I am capable of
therefore, you must know all
I am not.
You are divine, resplendent
A paper hat.
A viceroy, flitting in early Fall.