I Have Never Loved

must promise to care for roses in pain.
must cherish like beauty was excellence,
or muscle means goodness, or derrière
means greater climactic fury—the fire

at its chorus, the catalyst was a smaller
aesthetic, a person, nonetheless, a wolf
gunning, the city running, each time to
describe a woman—I lose a woman.

art is healing. she was dying. I found
her next to a portico, she was in tears, I
spoke, fidgeting with magic, it hurts,
it’s not sacred, unique, but it

feels different.
we aborted a child together. we endured
a miscarriage together. we lied to
Adonai together.

I saw a woman. I feel ridiculous. I think
she’s mature, softer, set to the defense of
her inheritance—a greater soul, a rocky
gathering, the berries given testimony.

afore a firebrick, eating a sandwich, I
bubbled inside—blue flicker, like red
flame—signs, fiberglass, pressure, a soul
over founts, waterfalls splashing, I don’t

know if I aim to love;
like kilowatts, like untamed electricity,
like riding dolphins, 100 x 1000 miles
off the coast;

like mourning with purpose; like
shooting a sunray; like meeting a good
human.
aside a sakura tree, watching a sakata

bug, sipping a canteen problem;
years at our habit, no deeper passion, I
have never loved.