Love

A beautiful, smooth and narrow
Slits, the gleam, the sound --
Like calx -- like a reed incanted
By the season. It
Is not a substance!
The word must be a he or you. Will
We come close when two
Materials meet? Give us
One idea. Well,
a word between us
And a tongue. Is it
All then that germinates, is it
Bees when they pluck
The flower's progeny? Mirrors
Maybe, you will find
An image in a soul.
But if I must have a truth
Then I will be alone, whereas
Even understanding is
The bond of those
Who grasp and pull
Themselves to themselves
And wind around
Their bodies in their emptiness
The things they know.