As an idea, love
is an easy one
to hold;
it's fun to imagine
bold gestures,
kind words. But
when you finally
catch it, it bites
and scratches—
it soils your lap
with its piss
and turds—
and the second
you loosen
your grip, it disappears
down a little burrow
where you're too
stout to follow.
And you say,
I've learned my lesson,
but you haven't
learned a thing.
So you'll wait
at the entrance
all night if you have to—
just to be near it,
just to participate.
In the rain,
in the wind—
you're exultant
to do it—you'll keep
this holy vigil. You will
softly sing.
